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THE  LIBRARIES 


From  Library  of 
Dean  McBain 


T-V 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION 


EUROPE, 


THE    FALL    OF    THE    ROMAN    EMPIRE    TO    THE 
FRENCH    REVOLUTION. 


BY    M.     GUIZOT. 

FKIME   MINISTER   OF   FRANCE,    AUTHOR  OF    "a    HISTORY   OF   FRANCE,"   ETC. 


NEW  YOBKi'^l 
.  J^DHJS  B.AIiDENi' PUBLISHER 


From  library  of 
DeaB   McBain 
May   a9,19^1 


ANALYTICAL  TABLE  OF  CONTENTS. 


LECTURE  I. 

CIVILIZATION  IN  GENERAL. 


Object  Of  the  course 

History  of  European  civilization. . . ." 

Part  taken  in  it  by  France 

Civilization  may  be  recounted 

Forms  the  most  general  and  inter- 
esting: fact  of  history 

Popular  and  usual  meaning  of  the 
word  civilization 

Civilization  consists  of  two  principal 
facts:— 1st,  the  progress  of  so- 
ciety; 2d,  the  progress  of  indi- 
viduals       16 

Proofs  of  this  assertion . .' .    17 


11 


That  these  two  facts  are  necessarily 
connected  to  one  another,  and 
sooner  or  later  produce  one  an- 
other       17 

The  entire  destiny  of  man  not  con- 
tained in  his  present  or  social 
condition 21 

Two  ways  of  considering  and  writing 
the  history  of  civilization 21 

A  few  words  upon  the  plan  of  this 
course 22 

Of  the  actual  state  of  opinion,  and  of 
the  future,  as  regards  civilization    23 


LECTURE  n. 

OP    EUROPEAN    civilization:— IN    PARTICULAR    ITS    DISTINGUISHED  CHARACTERISTICS 
—ITS  SUPERIORITY— ITS  ELEMENTS. 


Object  of  the  lecture 25 

Unity  of  ancient  civilization 26 

Varietj-  of  modern  civilization 27 

Superiority  of  the  latter 29 

State  of  Europe  at  the  Fall  of  the 

Roman  Empire  . .    35 

Preponderance  of  cities   31 

Attempts  at  poHtical  reform  made 

by  the  emperors 33 

Rescripts  of  Honorius  and  Theodo- 

sius  I[ 33 

Power  in  the  name  of  empire 35 

The  Christian  Church 35 

Tne  various  states  in  which  it  had 


existed  down  to  the  fifth  cen- 
tury       37 

The  clergy  possessed  of  municipal 

offices 38 

Good  and   evil   influence   of   the 

Church 41 

The  Barbarians 41 

They  introduce  into  the  modern 
world  the  sentiments  of  personal 

independence  and  loyalty 43 

Sketch  of  the  various  elements  of 
civilization  at  the  beginning  of 
the  fifth  century 44 


LECTURE  in. 

OF  POUTICAL  LEGITIMACY— CO-EXISTENCE  OF  ALL  THE   SYSTEMS  OP    GOVERNMENT    IN 
THE  FIFTH   CENTURY— ATTEMPTS  TO  REORGANIZE   SOCIETY. 


All  the  various  systems  of  civiliza- 
tion  lay  claim  to  legitimacy 46 

Explanation  of  political  legitimacy.     49 

Co-existence  of  all  the  various  sys- 
tems of  government  in  the  fifth 
century 51 

Instability  of  the  state  of'  persons, 
estates,   domains,   and    iustitu- 

_     tions 52 

Two  causes— one  material,  the  con- 
tinuation of  the  invasions 53 

Second  moral,  the  sentiment  of  ego- 
tist individualism,  peculiar  to 
the  barbarians 56 


The  elementaiy  principles  of  civili- 
zation have  been, 

1.  The  want  of  order 57 

2.  Remembrances  of  the  empire  . .  .57 

3.  The  Christian  Church 58 

4.  The  barbarians 58 

Attempts  at  organization 59 

1.  By  the  barbarians 59 

2.  By  the  cities  59 

3.  By  the  Church  of  Spain 60 

4.  By  Charlemagne— Alfred  ... .  61,02 
The  German  and  Saracen  invasion 

arrested m 

The  feudal  system  begins W 


CONTENTS. 


LECTUKE  IV. 


THE  FEUDAL  SYSTEM. 


PAGE 

Necessary  alliance  of  facts  and  theo- 
ries  

Preponderance  of  country  life 

Organization  of  a  little  feudal  so- 
ciety   

Influence  of  feudalism  upon  the  dis- 
position of  a  proprietor  of  a  fief. 

Upon  the  spirit  of  family 

Hatred  of  the  people  for  the  feudal 
system 

Priests  could  do  but  little  for  the 
serfs 


PAGE. 

Impossibility  of  regular  organization 

C6            of  the  feudal  system 77 

70  1st.  No  great  authority ;...  78 

2d.  No  public  power 79 

71  3d.  Difficulties  of   the  federative 
system 80 

72  Right  of  resistance  inherent  in  the 
72            feudal  system 82 

Influence  of  feudalism  good  for  the 

75            development  of  individual  man.  83 

Bad  for  social  order 83 


i 


LECTURE  V. 


THE  CHRISTIAN-  CHURCH. 


Religion  a  principle  of  association . .    86 
Force  not  essential  to  government. .     93 
Conditions  necessary  to  the  legiti- 
macy of  a  government  94 

1.  Power  in  the  hands  of  the  most 
worthy 94 

2.  Respect  for  the  liberties  of  the 
governed 94 

The  Church  being  a  corporation  and 
not  a  caste,  answered  to  the  first 
of  these  conditions 94 

Various  modes  of  nomination  and 
election  in  the  Church 9G 


It  failed  in  the  second  condition  by 
the  unlawful  extension  of  the 
principle  of  authority 97 

And  by  its  abusive  employment  of 
force 98 

Activity  and  liberty  of  mind  within 
the  Church 100 

Connexion  of  the  Church  with  prin- 
ces    101 

Principle  of  the  independence  of 
spiritual  authority 103 

Claims  of  the  Church  to  dominion 
over  temporal  powers 103 


LECTURE  VI. 


THE  CHRISTIAN  CHURCH. 


Separation  of  the  governing  and  the 
fcoverned  in  the  Church 106 

Indirect  influence  of  the  laity  upon 
the  Church 109 

The  clerical  body  recruited  from  all 
ranks  of  society 110 

Influence  of  the  Church  on  public 
order  and  legislation    112 

Its  system  of  penitence 114 

The  progress  of  the  human  mind 
purely  theological 116 

The  Church  ranges  itself  on  the  side 
of  authority 117 

Not  astonishing— the  object  of  reli- 
gion is  to  regulate  hu  man  liberty.  117 

Various  states  of  the  Church  from 


the  fifth  to  the  twelfth  century . .  120 

1.  The  imperial  church 130 

2.  The  barbarian  church— develop- 
ment  of   the   principle   of   the 
separation  of  the  two  powers  ...  121 
The  monastic  orders 131 

3.  The  feudal  church 133 

Attempts  at  organization 133 

Want  of  reforni 134 

Gregory  VII 124 

4.  The  theocratic  church 184 

Revival  of  free  inquiry 135 

Abelard,  etc 135 

Agitation  in  the  municipalities. .  126 
No  connexion  between  these  two 

facts 127 


LECTURE  VII. 


RISE   OP  FREE  CITIES. 


A  sketch  of  the  different  states  of 
cities  in  the  twelfth  and  eigh- 
teenth centuries 128 

Twofold  question:— 

1st.  Affranchisement  of  cities 133 

State  of  cities  from  the  fifth  to  the 

tenth  centuries 133 

Their  decline  and  revival 131 

Insurrection  of  the  commons 137 

Charters 188 


Social  and  moral  effects  of  the  af- 
franchisement of  the  cities 140 

2d.  Of   the  interior  government  of 

cities 146 

Assemblies  of  the  people 146 

Magistrates 148 

High  and  low  burghers 146 

Diversity  in  the  state  of  the  com- 
mons in  various  countries 147 


CONTENTS. 


LECTURE  VIII. 

SKETCH  OF  EUROPEAN  CIVILIZATION— THE  CRUSADES. 


PAGE. 

General  view  of  the  civilization  of 
Europe 148 

Its  distinctive  and  fundamental  char- 
acter   150 

When  this  character  beg:an  to  appear  150 

State  of  Europe  from  the  twelfth  to 
the  sixteenth  century 150 


PAGE. 

The  Crusades: 

Their  character 152 

Their  moral  and  social  causes. .  . .  154 
The^e  causes  cease  at  the  end  of 

the  thirteenth  century 155 

Effect  s  of  the  crusades  upon  civili- 
zation    157 


LECTURE  IX. 

MONARCHY. 


Important  part  of  monarchy  in  the 

history  of  Europe '. 167 

In  the  hiscory  of  the  world 169 

True  causes  of  its  importance . .  169 

Twofold  point  of  view  under  which 

monarchy  should  be  considered.  169 
1st.  Its  pecuhar  and  permanent  char- 
acter   169 

It  is  the  personification  of  legiti- 
mate sovereignty 170 


Within  what  limits 371 

2d.  Its  flexibility  and  diversity 174 

The   European   monarchy  seems 
the  result  of  the  various  species 

of  monarchy 174 

Of  the  barbarian  monarchy 174 

Of  the  imperial  monarchy 176 

Of  the  feudal  monarchy 119 

Of  modern  monarchy,  properly  so 
called,  and  of  its  true  character.  181 


LECTURE  X. 


ATTEMPTS  AT  ORGANIZATION, 


Attempts  to  reconcile  the  various  so- 
cial elements  of  modern  Europe, 
so  as  to  make  them  live  and  act 
in  common — to  form  one  society 
under  one  same  central  power..  183 
1st.  Attempt  at  theocratic  organiza- 
tion   186 

Why  it  failed 186 

Four  principal  obstacles 186 

Faults  of  Gregory  VII 189 

Reaction  ajrainst  the  dominion  of 

the  Church 190 

On  the  part  of  the  people 190 

On  the  part  of  the  sovereigns 190 

2d.  Attempts  at  republican  organiza- 
tion   190 


Italian  republics— their  vices 192 

Cities  of  the  south  of  France 194 

Crusade  against  the  Albigenses. . .  194 

The  Swiss  confederacy 194 

Free  cities  of   Flanders  and  tho 

Rhine 195 

Hanseatic  League 195 

Stniggltr  between  the  feudal  no- 
bility and  the  cities 195 

3d.  Attempts  at  mixed  organization.  196 

The  States-general  of  France 196 

The  Cortes  of  Spain  and  Portugal.  197 

The  Parliament  of  England 198 

Bad  success  of  all  these  attempts. . .  199 

Causes  of  their  failure 199 

General  tendency  of  Europe 199 


LECTURE  XI. 


CENTRALIZATION,  DIPLOMACY,   ETC 


Particular  character  of  the  fifteenth 

century 200 

Progressive  centralizations   of   na- 
tions and  governments 201 

1st.  Of  France 202 

Formation  of  the  national  spirit  of 

France 203 

Formation  of   the   French   terri- 
tory   203 

Louis  XI. ,  manner  of  governing. . .  204 

2d.  Of  Spain 205 

8d.  Of  Germany 206 

4th.  Of  England 206 

ith.  Ofltaly 207 


Rise   of  the  exterior  relations  of 

states  and  of  diplomacy 208 

Agitation  of  religious  opinions "-210 

Attempt  at  arisLocratic   reform  in 

the  Church * 211 

Councils  of  Constance  and  Bale 212 

Attempt  at  popular  reform   213 

John  Huss 214 

Revival  of  ancient  literature 214 

Admiration  for  antiquity 214 

Classic  school 215 

General  activity 216 

Voyages,  travels,  inventions,  etc 816 

Conclusion 216 


COKTEKTS. 


LECTURE  xn. 


THE    REFORMATION. 


PAGE. 

DifiBculty  of  unravelling  general 
facts  ia  modern  history 217 

Picture  of  Europe  in  the  sixteenth 
century 218 

Danger  of  precipitate  generaliza- 
tions   222 

Various  causes  assigned  for  the 
reformation 2C3 

Its  predominant  characteristic— the 
insurrection  of  the  human  mind 


PAGE. 

against  absolute  power  in  Intel- 
lectual affairs 224 

Proofs  of  this  fact 226 

Progress  of  the  reformation  in  dif- 
ferent councries 228 

Weak  side  of  >^he  reformation 228 

The  Jesuits 231 

Analogy  between  the  revolutions  of 
civil  and  religious  society 232 


LECTURE  XIII. 

THE  ENGLiSH  REVOLUTION. 


General  character  of  the  English 

revolution  2.34 

Its  principal  causes 23.5 

Rather  political  than  religious 236 

Three  great  parties  succeed  one  an- 
other in  its  progress 240 

1st.    The    pure    monarchy    reform 

party 240 

2d.  The  constitutional  reform  party.  241 


3d.  The  republican  party 242 

They  all  fail 243 

Cromwell 244 

Restoration  of  the  Stuarts 246 

The  legitimate  administration 246 

Profligate  administrations 247 

National  administration 248 

Revolution  of  1688  in  England  and 
Europe 250 


LECTURE  XIV. 

THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION. 


Differences  and  resemblances  in  the 
progress  of  civilization  in  Eng- 
land and  on  the  continent 252 

Preponderance  of  France  in  Europe 
in  the  seventeenth  and  eigh- 
teenth centuries 256 

In  the  seventeenth  bj'  the  French 
government 256 

In  the  eighteenth  by  the  country 
itself 257 


Louis  XIV 257 

Of  his  wars 258 

Of  his  diplomacy 260 

Of  his  administration 202 

Of  his  legislation 263 

Causes  of  its  prompt  decline 264 

France  in  the  eighteenth  century.. . .  267 

Essential     characteristics     of     the 
philosophical  revolution ...     267 

Conclusion 270 


GENERAL 

HISTORY    OF    CIVILIZATION 

IN    MODERN   EUROPE. 

FROM  THE  FALL  OF  THE  ROMAN  EMPIRE  TO  THE  FRENCH 
REVOLUTION. 


LECTURE    L 

CIVILIZATION    IN    GENERAL. 

Being  called  upon  to  give  a  course  of  lectures,  and  hav- 
ing considered  what  subject  would  be  most  agreeable  and 
convenient  to  fill  up  the  short  space  allowed  us  from  now 
to  the  close  of  the  year,  it  has  occurred  to  me  that  a  general 
sketch  of  the  History  of  Modern  Europe,  considered  more 
especially  with  regard  to  the  progress  of  civilization — that  a 
general  survey  of  the  history  of  European  civilization,  of  its 
origin,  its  progress,  its  end,  its  character,  would  be  the 
most  profitable  subject  upon  which  I  could  engage  your 
attention. 

I  say  European  civilization,  because  there  is  evidently  so 
striking  a  uniformity  {icnitJ)  in  the  civilization  of  the  differ- 
ent states  of  Europe,  as  fully  to  warrant  this  appellation. 
Civilization  has  flowed  to  them  all  from  sources  so  much 
alike — it  is  so  connected  in  them  all,  notwithstanding  the 
great  differences  of  time,  of  place,  and  circumstances,  by  tie 
same  principles,  and  it  so  tends  in  them  all  to  bring  about 
the  same  results,  that  no  one  will  doubt  the  fact  of  there 
being  a  civilization  essentially  European. 

At  the  same  time  it  must  be  observed  that  this  civilization 
cannot  be  found  in — its  history  cannot  be  collected  from, 
the  history  of  any  single  state  of  Europe.  However  similar 
in  its  general  appearance  throughout  the  whole,  its  variety 
is  not  less  remarkable,  nor  has  it  ever  yet  developed  itself 


8  GENERAL    HISTORY    OF    THE 

completely  in  any  particular  country.  Its  characteristic  fea- 
tures are  widely  spread,  and  we  shall  be  obliged  to  seek,  as 
occasion  may  require,  in  England,  in  France,  in  Germany, 
in  Spain,  for  the  elements  of  its  history: 

The  situation  in  which  we  are  placed,  as  Frenchmen,  af- 
fords us  a  great  advantage  for  entering  upon  the  study  of 
European  civilization  ;  for,  without  intending  to  flatter  the 
country  to  which  I  am  bound  by  so  many  ties,  I  cannot  but 
regard  France  as  the  centre,  as  the  focus,  of  the  civilization 
of  Europe.  It  would  be  going  too  far  to  say  that  she  has 
always  been,  upon  every  occasion,  in  advance  of  other 
nations.  Italy,  at  various  epochs,  has  outstripped  her  in 
the  arts;  England,  as  regards  political  institutions,  is  by  far 
before  her;  and,  perhaps,  at  certain  moments,  we  may  find 
other  nations  of  Europe  superior  to  her  in  various  particu- 
lars; but  it  must  still  be  allowed,  that  whenever  France  has 
set  forward  in  the  career  of  civilization,  she  has  sprung 
forth  with  new  vigor,  and  has  soon  come  up  with,  or  passed 
by,  all  her  rivals. 

Not  only  is  this  the  case,  but  those  ideas,  those  institutions 
which  promote  civilization,  but  whose  birth  must  be  referred 
to  other  countries,  have,  before  they  could  become  general, 
or  produce  fruit — before  they  could  be  transplanted  to  other 
lands,  or  benefit  the  common  stock  of  European  civilization, 
been  obliged  to  undergo  in  France  a  new  preparation  :  it  is 
from  France,  as  from  a  second  country  more  rich  and  fertile, 
that  they  have  started  forth  to  make  the  conquest  of  Europe. 
There  is  not  a  single  great  idea,  not  a  single  great  principle 
of  civilization,  which,  in  order  to  become  universally  spread, 
has  not  first  passed  through  France. 

There  is,  indeed,  in  the  genius  of  the  French,  some- 
thing of  a  sociableness,  of  a  sympathy — something  which 
spreads  itself  with  more  facility  and  energy,  than  in  the 
genius  of  any  other  people  :  it  may  be  in  the  language,  or 
the  particular  turn  of  mind  of  the  French  nation  ;  it  may 
be  in  their  manners,  or  that  their  ideas,  being  more  popu- 
lar, present  themselves  more  clearly  to  the  masses,  penetrate 
among  them  with  greater  ease  ;  but,  in  a  word,  clearness, 
sociability,  sympathy,  are  the  particular  characteristics  of 
France,  of  its  civilization;  and  these  qualities  render  it  emi- 
nently qualified  to  march  at  the  head  of  European  civiliza- 
tion. 

In  studying,  then,  the  history  of  this  great  fact,  it  is 
neither  an  arbitrary  choice,  nor  convention,  that  leads  us  to 
make  France  the  central  point  from  which  we  shall  study  it  ; 


CIVILIZATION    OF    MODERN    EUROPE.  9 

but  it  is  because  we  feel  that  in  so  doing,  we  in  a  manner 
place  ourselves  in  the  very  heart  of  civilization  itself — in  the 
heart  of  the  very  fact  which  we  desire  to  investigate. 

I  say  fact^  and  I  say  it  advisedly:  civilization  is  just  as 
much  a  fact  as  any  other — it  is  a  fact  which  like  any  other 
may  be  studied,  described,  and  have  its  history  recounted. 

It  has  been  the  custom  for  some  time  past,  and  very  prop- 
erly, to  talk  of  the  necessity  of  confining  history  to  facts; 
nothing  can  be  more  just;  but  it  would  be  almost  absurd  to 
suppose  that  there  are  no  facts  but  such  as  are  materia]  and 
visible  :  there  are  moral,  hidden  facts,  which  are  no  less  real 
than  battles,  wars,  and  the  public  acts  of  government.  Be- 
sides these  individual  facts,  each  of  which  has  its  proper 
name,  there  are  others  of  a  general  nature,  without  a  name, 
of  which  it  is  impossible  to  say  that  they  happened  in  such 
a  year,  or  on  such  a  day,  and  which  it  is  impossible  to  con- 
fine within  any  precise  limits,  but  which  are  yet  just  as  much 
facts  as  the  battles  and  public  acts  of  which  we  have  spoken. 

That  very  portion,  indeed,  which  we  are  accustomed  to 
hear  called  the  philosophy  of  history — which  consists  in 
showing  the  relation  of  events  with  each  other — the  chain 
which  connects  them — the  causes  and  effects  of  events — this 
is  history  just  as  much  as  the  description  of  battles,  and  all 
the  other  exterior  events  which  it  recounts.  Facts  of  this 
kind  are  undoubtedly  more  difficult  to  unravel  ;  the  historian 
is  more  liable  to  deceive  himself  respecting  them  ;  it  requires 
more  skill  to  place  them  distinctly  before  the  reader  ;  but 
this  difficulty  does  not  alter  their  nature  ;  they  still  continue 
not  a  whit  the  less,  for  all  this,  to  form  an  essential  part  of 
history. 

Civilization  is  just  one  of  these  kind  of  facts  ;  it  is  so 
general  in  its  nature  that  it  can  scarcely  be  seized  ;  so  com- 
plicated that  it  can  scarcely  be  unravelled  ;  so  hidden  as 
scarcely  to  be  discernible.  The  difficulty  of  describing  it, 
of  recounting  its  history,  is  apparent  and  acknowledged  ; 
but  its  existence,  its  worthiness  to  be  described  and  to  be 
recounted,  is  not  less  certain  and  manifest.  Then,  respect- 
ing civilization,  what  a  number  of  problems  remain  to  be 
solved!  It  may  be  asked,  it  is  even  now  disputed,  whether 
civilization  be  a  good  or  an  evil?  One  party  decries  it  as 
teeming  with  mischief  to  man,  while  another  lauds  it  as  the 
means  by  which  he  will  attain  his  highest  dignity  and  excel- 
lence. Again,  it  is  asked  whether  this  fact  is  universal — 
whether  there  is  a  general  civilization  of  the  whole  human 


lO  GENERAL    HISTORY    OF    THE 

race — a  course  for  humanity  to  run — a  destiny  for  it  to 
accomplish;  whether  nations  have  not  transmitted  from  age 
to  age  something  to  their  successors  which  is  never  lost,  but 
which  grows  and  continues  as  a  common  stock,  and  will  thus 
be  carried  on  to  the  end  of  all  things.  For  my  part,  I  feel 
assured  that  human  nature  has  such  a  destiny;  that  a  general 
pivilization  pervades  the  human  race;  that  at  every  epoch  it 
/augments;  and  that  there,  consequently,  is  a  universal  his- 
Tory  of  civilization  to  be  written.  Nor  have  I  any  hesitation 
in  asserting  that  this  history  is  the  most  noble,  the  most  in- 
teresting of  any,  and  that  it  comprehends  every  other. 

Is  it  not  indeed  clear  that  civilization  is  the  great  fact  in 
which  all  others  merge;  in  which  they  all  end,  in  which  they 
are  all  condensed,  in  which  all  others  find  their  importance? 
Take  all  the  facts  of  which  the  history  of  a  nation  is  com- 
posed, all  the  facts  which  we  arc  accustomed  to  consider  as 
the  elements  of  its  existence — take  its  institutions,  its  com- 
merce, its  industry,  its  wars,  the  various  details  of  its  gov- 
ernment; and  if  you  would  form  some  idea  of  them  as  a 
whole,  if  you  would  see  their  various  bearings  on  each  other, 
if  you  would  appreciate  their  value,  if  you  would  pass  a  judg- 
ment upon  them,  what  is  it  you  desire  to  know?  Why,  what 
they  have  done  to  forward  the  progress  of  civilization — what 
part  they  have  acted  in  this  great  drama — what  influence 
they  have  exercised  in  aiding  its  advance.  It  is  not  only  by 
this  that  we  form  a  general  opinion  of  these  facts,  but  it  is 
by  this  standard  that  we  try  them,  that  we  estimate  their  true 
value.  These  are,  as  it  were,  the  rivers  of  whom  we  ask 
how  much  water  they  have  carried  to  the  ocean.  Civiliza- 
tion is,  as  it  were,  the  grand  emporium  of  a  people,  in  which 
all  its  wealth — all  the  elements  of  its  life — all  the  powers  of 
its  existence  are  stored  up.  It  is  so  true  that  we  judge  ot 
minor  facts  accordingly  as  they  affect  this  greater  one,  that 
even  some  which  are  naturally  detested  and  hated,  which 
prove  a  heavy  calamity  to  the  nation  upon  which  they  fall — 
say,  for  instance,  despotism,  anarchy,  and  so  forth — even 
these  are  partly  forgiven,  their  evil  nature  is  partly  over- 
looked, if  they  have  aided  in  any  considerable  degree  the 
march  of  civilization.  Wherever  the  progress  of  this  prin- 
ciple is  visible,  together  with  the  facts  which  have  urged  it 
forward,  we  are  tempted  to  forget  the  price  it  has  cost — we 
overlook  the  dearness  of  the  purchase. 

Again,  there  are  certain  facts  which,  properly  speaking, 
cannot  be  called  social — individual  facts  which  rather  con- 


CIVILIZATION    OF    MODERN    EUROPE.  II 

cern  the  human  intellect  than  public  life:  such  are  religious 
doctrines,  philosophical  opinions,  literature,  the  sciences  and 
arts.  All  these  seem  to  offer  themselves  to  individual  man 
for  his  improvement,  instruction,  or  amusement;  and  to  be 
directed  rather  to  his  intellectual  melioration  and  pleasure, 
than  to  his  social  condition.  Yet  still,  how  often  do  these 
facts  come  before  us — how  often  are  we  compelled  to  con- 
sider them  as  influencing  civilization!  In  all  times,  in  all 
countries,  it  has  been  the  boast  of  religion,  that  it  has  civ- 
ilized the  people  among  whom,  it  has  dwelt.  Literature,  the 
arts,  and  sciences,  have  put  in  their  claim  for  a  share  of  this 
glory;  and  mankind  has  been  ready  to  laud  and  honor  them 
whenever  it  has  felt  that  this  praise  was  fairly  their  due.  In 
the  same  manner,  facts  the  most  important — facts  of  them- 
selves, and  independently  of  their  exterior  consequences,  the 
most  sublime  in  their  nature,  have  increased  in  importance, 
have  reached  a  higher  degree  of  sublimity,  by  their  connex- 
ion with  civilization.  Such  is  the  worth  of  this  great  prin- 
ciple, that  it  gives  a  value  to  all  it  touches.  Not  only  so, 
but  there  are  even  cases,  in  which  the  facts  of  which  we  have 
spoken,  in  which  philosophy,  literature,  the  sciences,  and  the 
arts,  are  especially  judged,  and  condemned  or  applauded, 
according  to  their  influence  upon  civilization. 

Before,  however,  we  proceed  to  the  history  of  this  fact, 
so  important,  so  extensive,  so  precious,  and  which  seems,  as 
it  were,  to  imbody  the  entire  life  of  nations,  let  us  consider 
it  for  a  moment  in  itself,  and  endeavor  to  discover  what  it 
really  is. 

I  shall  be  careful  here  not  to  fall  into  pure  philosophy  ;  I 
shall  not  lay  down  a  certain  rational  principle,  and  then,  by 
deduction,  show  the  nature  of  civilization  as  a  consequence  ; 
there  would  be  too  many  chances  of  error  in  pursuing  this 
method.  Still,  without  this,  we  shall  be  able  to  find  a  fact  to 
establish  and  to  describe. 

For  a  long  time  past,  and  in  many  countries,  the  word 
civilization  has  been  in  use  ;  ideas  more  or  less  clear,  and  of 
wider  or  more  contracted  signification,  have  been  attached 
to  it;  still  it  has  been  constantly  employed  and  generally 
understood.  Now,  it  is  the  popular,  common  signification 
of  this  word  that  we  must  investigate.  In  the  usual,  gen- 
eral acceptation  of  terms,  there  will  nearly  always  be  found 
more  truth  than  in  the  seemingly  more  precise  and  rigorous 
definitions  of  science.  It  is  common  sense  which  gives  to 
words  their  popular  signification,  and  common  sense  is  the 


\i  GENERAL    HISTORY    OF    THE 

genius  of  humanity.  The  popular  signification  of  a  word  is 
formed  by  degrees,  and  while  the  facts  it  repesents  are  them- 
selves present.  As  often  as  a  fact  comes  before  us  which 
seems  to  answer  to  the  signification  of  a  known  term,  this 
term  is  naturally  applied  to  it,  its  signification  gradually  ex- 
tending and  enlarging  itself,  so  that  at  last  the  various  facts 
and  ideas  which,  from  the  nature  of  things,  ought  to  be 
brought  together  and  imbodied  in  this  term,  will  be  found 
collected  and  imbodied  in  it.  When,  on  the  contrary,  the 
signification  of  a  word  is  determined  by  science,  it  is  usually 
done  by  one  or  a  very  few  individuals,  who,  at  the  time,  are 
under  the  influence  of  some  fact  which  has  taken  possession 
of  their  imagination.  Thus  it  comes  to  pass  that  scientific 
definitions  are,  in  general,  much  narrower,  and,  on  that  very 
account,  much  less  correct,  than  the  popular  significations 
given  to  words.  So,  in  the  investigation  of  the  meaning  of 
the  word  civiJizatio?i  as  a  fact — by  seeking  out  all  the  ideas  it 
comprises,  according  to  the  common  sense  of  mankind,  we 
shall  arrive  much  nearer  to  the  knowledge  of  the  fact  itself, 
by  than  attempting  to  give  our  own  scientific  definition  of  it, 
though  this  might  at  first  appear  more  clear  and  precise. 

I  shall  commence  this  investigation  by  placing  before  you 
a  series  of  hypotheses.  I  shall  describe  society  in  various 
conditions,  and  shall  then  ask  if  the  state  in  which  I  so  de- 
scribe it  is,  in  the  general  opinion  of  mankind,  the  state  of 
a  people  advancing  in  civilization — if  it  answers  to  the  sig- 
nification which  mankind  generally  attaches  to  this  word. 

First,  imagine  a  people  whose  outward  circumstances  are 
easy  and  agreeable;  few  taxes,  few  hardships;  justice  is 
fairly  administered;  in  a  word,  physical  existence,  taken  al- 
together, is  satisfactorily  and  happily  regulated.  But  with 
all  this  the  moral  and  intellectual  energies  of  this  people  are 
studiously  kept  in  a  state  of  torpor  and  inertness.  It  can 
hardly  be  called  oppression;  its  tendency  is  not  of  that  char- 
acter— it  is  rather  compression.  We  are  not  without  exam- 
ples of  this  state  of  society.  There  have  been  a  great  num- 
ber of  little  aristocratic  republics,  in  which  the  people  have 
been  thus  treated  like  so  many  flocks  of  sheep,  carefully 
tended,  physically  happy,  but  without  the  least  intellectual 
and  moral  activity.  Is  this  civilization?  Do  we  recognize 
here  a  people  in  a  state  of  moral  and  social  advancement? 

Let  us  take  another  hypothesis.  Let  us  imagine  a  peo- 
ple whose  outward  circumstances  are  less  favorable  and 
agreeable;    still,    however,   supportable.      As    a   set-off,   its 


CIVILIZATION    OF    MODERN    EUROPE.  I3 

intellectual  and  moral  cravings  have  not  here  been  entirely 
neglected.  A  certain  range  has  been  allowed  them — some 
few  pure  and  elevated  sentiments  have  been  here  distributed; 
religious  and  moral  notions  have  reached  a  certain  degree 
of  improvement;  but  the  greatest  care  has  been  taken  to 
stifle  every  principle  of  liberty.  The  moral  and  intellectual 
wants  of  this  people  are  provided  for  in  the  way  that,  among 
some  nations,  the  physical  wants  have  been  provided  for; 
a  certain  portion  of  truth  is  doled  out  to  each,  but  no  one  is 
permitted  to  help  himself — to  seek  for  truth  on  his  own  ac- 
count. Immobility  is  the  character  of  its  moral  life;  and  to 
this  condition  are  fallen  most  of  the  populations  of  Asia,  in 
which  theocratic  government  restrains  the  advance  of  man: 
such,  for  example,  is  the  state  of  the  Hindoos.  I  again  put 
the  same  question  as  before — Is  this  a  people  among  whom 
civilization  is  going  on? 

I  will  change  entirely  the  nature  of  the  hypothesis:  sup- 
pose a  people  among  whom  there  reigns  a  very  large  stretch 
of  personal  liberty,  but  among  whom  also  disorder  and  in- 
equality almost  everywhere  abound.  The  weak  are  op- 
pressed, afflicted,  destroyed;  violence  is  the  ruling  charac- 
ter of  the  social  condition.  Every  one  knows  that  such  has 
been-  the  state  of  Europe.  Is  this  a  civilized  state?  It  may 
without  doubt  contain  germs  of  civilization  which  may  pro- 
gressively shoot  up;  but  the  actual  state  of  things  which 
prevails  in  this  society  is  not,  we  may  rest  assured,  what  the 
common  sense  of  mankind  would  call  civilization. 

I  pass  on  to  a  fourth  and  last  hypothesis.  Every  indi- 
vidual here  enjoys  the  widest  extent  of  liberty;  inequality  is 
rare,  or,  at  least,  of  a  very  slight  character.  Every  one 
does  as  he  likes,  and  scarcely  differs  in  power  from  his  neigh- 
bor. But  then  here  scarcely  such  a  thing  is  known  as  a 
general  interest;  here  exist  but  few  public  ideas;  hardly  any 
public  feeling;  but  little  society:  in  short,  the  life  and  facul- 
ties of  individuals  are  put  forth  and  spent  in  an  isolated 
state,  with  but  little  regard  to  society,  and  with  scarcely  a 
sentiment  of  its  influence.  Men  here  exercise  no  influence 
upon  one  another;  they  leave  no  traces  of  their  existence. 
Generation  after  generation  pass  away,  leaving  society  just 
as  they  found  it.  Such  is  the  condition  of  the  various  tribes 
of  savages;  liberty  and  equality  dwell  among  them,  but  no 
touch  of  civilization. 

I  could  easily  multiply  these  hypotheses;  but  I  presume 
that  I  have  gone  far  enough  to  show  what  is  the  popular 
and  natural  signification  of  the  word  civilization. 


14  GENERAL    HISTORY    OF    THE 

It  is  evident  that  none  of  the  states  which  I  have  just 
described  will  correspond  with  the  common  notion  of  man- 
kind respecting  this  term.  It  seems  to  me  that  the  first  idea 
comprised  in  the  word  ciTilization  (and  this  may  be  gathered 
from  the  various  examples  which  I  have  placed  before  you) 
is  the  notion  of  progress,  of  development.  It  calls  up  within 
us  the  notion  of  a  people  advancing,  of  a  people  in  a  course 
of  improvement  and  melioration. 

Now  what  is  this  progress?  What  is  this  development? 
In  this  is  the  great  difficulty.  The  etymology  of  the  word 
seems  sufficiently  obvious — it  points  at  once  to  the  improve- 
ment of  civil  life.  The  first  notion  which  strikes  us  in  pro- 
nouncing It  is  the  progress  of  society;  the  melioration  of  the 
social  state;  the  carrying  to  higher  perfection  the  relations 
between  man  and  man.  It  awakens  withm  us  at  once  the 
notion  of  an  increase  of  national  prosperity,  of  a  greater  ac- 
tivity and  better  organization  of  the  social  relations.  On 
one  hand  there  is  a  manifest  increase  in  the  power  and  well- 
being  of  society  at  large;  and  on  the  other  a  more  equitable 
distribution  of  this  power  and  this  w^ell-being  among  the  in- 
dividuals of  which  society  is  composed. 

But  the  word  civilization  has  a  more  extensive  significa- 
tion than  this,  which  seems  to  confine  it  to  the  mere  out- 
ward, physical  organization  of  society.  Now,  if  this  were 
all,  the  human  race  would  be  little  better  than  the  inhabi- 
tants of  an  ant-hill  or  bee-hive;  a  society  in  which  nothing 
was  sought  for  beyond  order  and  well-being — in  which  the 
highest,  the  sole  aim,  would  be  the  production  of  the  means 
of  life,  and  their  equitable  distribution. 

But  our  nature  at  once  rejects  this  definition  as  too  nar- 
row. It  tells  us  that  man  is  formed  for  a  higher  destiny 
than  this.  That  this  is  not  the  full  development  of  his  char- 
acter— that  civilization  comprehends  som.ethmg  more  exten- 
sive, something  more  complex,  something  superior  to  the  per- 
fection of  social  relations,  of  social  power  and  well-being. 

That  this  is  so,  we  have  not  merely  the  evidence  of  our 
nature,  and  that  derived  from  the  signification  which  the 
common  sense  of  mankind  has  attached  to  the  word;  but  we 
have  likewise  the  evidence  of  facts. 

No  one,  for  example,  will  deny  that  there  are  communi- 
ties in  which  the  social  state  of  man  is  better — in  which  the 
means  of  life  are  better  supplied,  are  more  rapidly  produced, 
are  better  distributed,  than  in  others,  which  yet  will  be  pro- 
nounced by  the  unanimous  voice  of  mankind  to  be  superior 
in  point  of  civilization. 


CIVILIZATION    OF    MODERN    EUROPE.  I5 

Take  Rome,  for  example,  in  the  splendid  days  of  the  re- 
public, at  the  close  of  the  second  Punic  war;  the  moment  of 
her  greatest  virtues,  when  she  was  rapidly  advancing  to  the 
empire  of  the  world — when  her  social  condition  was  evidently 
improving.  Take  Rome  again  under  Augustus,  at  the  com- 
mencement of  her  decline,  when,  to  say  the  least,  the  pro- 
gressive movement  of  society  halted,  when  bad  principles 
seemed  ready  to  prevail;  but  is  there  any  person  who  would 
not  say  that  Rome  was  more  civilized  under  Augustus  than 
in  the  days  of  Fabricius  or  Cincinnatus  ? 

Let  us  look  further:  let  us  look  at  France  in  the  seven- 
teenth and  eighteenth  centuries.  In  a  merely  social  point 
of  view,  as  respects  the  quantity  and  the  distribution  of  well- 
being  among  individuals,  France,  in  the  seventeenth  and 
eighteenth  centuries,  was  decidedly  inferior  to  several  of  the 
other  states  of  Europe;  to  Holland  and  England  in  particu- 
lar. Social  activity,'  in  these  countries,  was  greater,  in- 
creased more  rapidly,  and  distributed  its  fruits  more  equita- 
bly among  individuals.  Yet  consult  the  general  opinion  of 
mankind,  and  it  will  tell  you  that  France  in  the  seventeenth 
and  eighteenth  centuries  was  the  most  civilized  country  of 
Europe.  Europe  has  not  hesitated  to  acknowledge  this 
fact,  and  evidence  of  its  truth  will  be  found  in  all  the  great 
works  of  European  literature. 

It  appears  evident,  then,  that  all  that  we  understand  by 
this  term  is  not  comprised  in  the  simple  idea  of  social  well- 
being  and  happiness;  and,  if  we  look  a  little  deeper,  we  dis- 
cover that,  besides  the  progress  and  melioration  of  social  life, 
another  development  is  comprised  in  our  notion  of  civiliza- 
tion: namely,  the  development  of  individual  life,  the  devel- 
opment of  the  human  mind  and  its  faculties — the  develop- 
ment of  man  himself. 

It  is  this  development  which  so  strikingly  manifested  it- 
self in  France  and  Rome  at  these  epochs;  it  is  this  expansion 
of  human  intelligence  which  gave  to  them  so  great  a  degree 
of  superiority  of  civilization.  In  these  countries  the  godlike 
principle  which  distinguishes  man  from  the  brute  exhibited 
itself  with  peculiar  grandeur  and  power;  and  compensated 
in  the  eyes  of  the  world  for  the  defects  of  their  social  sys- 
tem. These  communities  had  still  many  social  conquests  to 
make;  but  they  had  already  glorified  themselves  by  the  in- 
tellectual and  moral  victories  they  had  achieved.  Many  of 
the  conveniences  of  life  were  here  wanting;  from  a  consider- 
able portion  of  the  community  were  still  withheld  their  natu- 
ral rights  and  political  privileges;  but  see  the    number  of 


l6  GENERAL    HISTORY    OF    THE 

illustrious  individuals  who  lived  and  earned  the  applause  and 
approbation  of  their  fellow-men.  Here,  too,  literature,  sci- 
ence, and  art,  attained  extraordinary  perfection,  and  shone 
in  more  splendor  than  perhaps  they  had  ever  done  before. 
Now,  wherever  this  takes  place,  wherever  man  sees  these 
glorious  idols  of  his  worship  displayed  in  their  full  lustre — 
wherever  he  sees  this  fund  of  rational  and  refined  enjoy- 
ment for  the  godlike  part  of  his  nature  called  into  existence, 
there  he  recognizes  and  adores  civilization. 

Two  elements,  then,  seem  to  be  comprised  in  the  great 
fact  which  we  call  civilization; — two  circumstances  are  neces- 
sary to  its  existence — it  lives  upon  two  conditions — it  reveals 
itself  by  two  symptoms:  the  progress  of  society,  the  pro- 
gress of  individuals;  the  melioration  of  the  social  system, 
and  the  expansion  of  the  mind  and  faculties  of  man. 
Wherever  the  exterior  condition  of  man  becomes  enlarged, 
quickened,  and  improved;  wherever  the  intellectual  nature 
of  man  distinguishes  itself  by  its  energy,  brilliancy,  and  its 
grandeur;  wherever  these  two  signs  concur,  and  they  often 
do  so,  notwithstanding  the  gravest  imperfections  in  the  so- 
cial system,  there  man  proclaims  and  applauds  civilization. 

Such,  if  I  mistake  not,  would  be  the  notion  mankind  in 
general  would  form  of  civilization,  from  a  simple  and  ra- 
tional inquiry  into  the  meaning  of  the  term.  This  view  of 
it  is  confirmed  by  History.  If  we  ask  of  her  what  has  been 
the  character  of  every  great  crisis  favorable  to  civilization, 
if  we  examine  those  great  events  which  all  acknowledge  to 
have  carried  it  forward,  we  shall  always  find  one  or  other  of 
the  two  elements  which  I  have  just  described.  They  have 
all  been  epochs  of  individual  or  social  improvement;  events 
which  have  either  wrought  a  change  in  individual  man,  in 
his  opinions,  his  manners;  or  in  his  exterior  condition,  his 
situation  as  regards  his  relations  with  his  fellow-men.  Chris- 
tianity, for  example:  I  allude  not  merely  to  the  first  moment 
of  its  appearance,  but  to  the  first  centuries  of  its  existence — 
Christianity  was  in  no  way  addressed  to  the  social  condition 
of  man;  it  distinctly  disclaimed  all  interference  with  it.  It 
commanded  the  slave  to  obey  his  master.  It  attacked  none 
of  the  great  evils,  none  of  the  gross  acts  of  injustice,  by 
which  the  social  system  of  that  day  was  disfigured;  yet  who 
but  will  acknowledge  that  Christianity  has  been  one  of  the 
greatest  promoters  of  civilization?  And  wherefore?  Be- 
cause it  has  changed  the  interior  condition  of  man,  his  opin- 
ions, his  sentiments:  because  it  has  regenerated  his  moral, 
his  intellectual  character. 


CIVILIZATION    OF    MODERN    EUROPE.  I7 

We  have  seen  a  crisis  of  an  opposite  nature;  a  crisis 
affecting  not  the  intellectual,  but  the  outward  condition  of 
man,  which  has  changed  and  regenerated  society.  This 
also  we  may  rest  assured  is  a  decisive  crisis  of  civilization. 
If  we  search  history  thruugh,  we  shall  everywhere  find  the 
same  result;  we  shall  meet  with  no  important  event,  which 
had  a  direct  influence  in  the  advancement  of  civilization, 
which  has  not  exercised  it  in  one  of  the  two  ways  I  have  just 
mentioned. 

Having  thus,  as  I  hope,  given  you  a  clear  notion  of  the 
two  elements  of  which  civilization  is  composed,  let  us  now 
see  whether  one  of  them  alone  would  be  sufficient  to  consti- 
tute it:  whether  either  the  development  of  the  social  condi- 
tion, or  the  development  of  the  individual  man  taken  sepa- 
rately, deserves  to  be  regarded  as  civilization?  or  whether 
these  two  events  are  so  intimately  connected,  that,  if  they 
are  not  produced  simultaneously,  they  are  nevertheless  so 
intimately  connected^  that,  sooner  or  later,  one  uniformly  pro- 
duces the  other? 

There  are  three  wa3^s,  as  it  seems  to  me,  in  which  we 
may  proceed  in  deciding  this  question.  First:  we  may  in- 
vestigate the  nature  itself  of  the  two  elements  of  civilization, 
and  see  whether  by  that  they  are  strictly  and  necessarily 
bound  together.  Secondly:  we  may  examine  historically 
whether,  in  fact,  they  have  manifested  themselves  separately, 
or  whether  one  has  always  produced  the  other.  Thirdly: 
we  may  consult  common  sense,  i.e.,  the  general  opinion  of 
mankind.  Let  us  first  address  ourselves  to  the  general 
opinion  of  mankind — to  common  sense. 

When  any  great  change  takes  place  in  the  state  of  a 
country — when  any  great  development  of  social  prosperity  is 
accomplished  within  it — any  revolution  or  reform  in  the 
powers  and  privileges  of  society,  this  new  event  naturally 
has  its  adversaries.  It  is  necessarily  contested  and  opposed. 
Now  what  are  the  objections  which  the  adversaries  of  such 
revolutions  bring  against  them? 

They  assert  that  this  progress  of  the  social  condition  is 
attended  with  no  advantage;  that  it  does  not  improve  in  a 
corresponding  degree  the  moral  state — the  intellectual  powers 
of  man;  that  it  is  a  false,  deceitful  progress, which  proves 
detrimental  to  his  moral  character,  to  the  true  interests  of  his 
better  nature.     On  the  other  hand,  this  attack  is  repulsed 


l8  GENERAL    HISTORY    OF    THE 

with  much  force  by  the  friends  of  the  movement.  They 
maintain  that  the  progress  of  society  necessarily  leads  to  the 
progress  of  intelligence  and  morality;  that,  in  proportion  as 
the  social  life  is  better  regulated,  individual  life  becomes 
more  refined  and  virtuous.  Thus  the  question  rests  in  abey- 
ance between  the  opposers  and  partisans  of  the  change. 

But  reverse  this  hypothesis;  suppose  the  moral  develop- 
ment in  progress.  What  do  the  men  who  labor  for  it  generally 
hope  for? — What,  at  the  origin  of  societies,  have  the  founders 
of  religion,  the  sages,  poets,  and  philosophers,  who  have  la- 
bored to  regulate  and  refine  the  manners  of  mankind,  prom- 
ised themselves?  What  but  the  melioration  of  the  social 
condition:  the  more  equitable  distribution  of  the  blessings 
of  life?  What,  now,  let  me  ask,  should  be  inferred  from 
this  dispute  and  from  those  hopes  and  promises?  It  may, 
I  think,  be  fairly  inferred  that  it  is  the  spontaneous,  intui- 
tive conviction  of  mankind,  that  the  two  elements  of  civili- 
zation— the  social  and  moral  development — are  intimaely 
connected;  that,  at  the  approach  of  one,  man  looks  for  the 
other.  It  is  to  this  natural  conviction  we  appeal  when,  to 
second  or  combat  either  one  or  the  other  of  the  two  ele- 
ments, we  deny  or  attest  its  union  with  the  other.  We  know 
that  if  men  were  persuaded  that  the  melioration  of  the  so- 
cial condition  would  operate  against  the  expansion  of  the  in- 
tellect, they  would  almost  oppose  and  cry  out  against  the  ad- 
vancement of  society.  On  the  other  hand,  when  we  speak  to 
mankind  of  improving  society  by  improving  its  individual 
members,  we  find  them  willing  to  believe  us,  and  to  adopt 
the  principle.  Hence  w^e  may  affirm  that  it  is  the  intuitive 
belief  of  man,  that  these'two  elements  of  civilization  are  in- 
J:imately  connected,  and  that  they  reciprocally  produce  one 
another.  ' ' 

If  we  now  examine  the  history  of  the  world  we  shall  have 
the  same  result.  We  shall  find  that  every  expansion  of 
human  intelligence  has  proved  of  advantage  to  society;  and 
that  all  the  great  advances  in  the  social  condition  have 
turned  to  the  profit  of  humanity.  One  or  other  of  these 
facts  may  predominate,  may  shine  forth  with  greater  splen- 
dor for  a  season,  and  impress  upon  the  movement  its  own 
particular  character.  At  times,  it  may  not  be  till  the  lapse 
of  a  long  interval,  after  a  thousand  transformations,  a  thou- 
sand obstacles,  that  the  second  shows  itself,  and  comes,  as 
it  were,  to  complete  the  civilization  which  the  first  had  be- 
gun; but  when  we  look  closely  we  easily  recognize  the  link 


CIVILIZATION    OF    MODERN    EUROPE.  I9 

by  which  they  are  connected.  The  movements  of  Provi- 
dence are  not  restricted  to  narrow  bounds:  it  is  not  anxious 
to  deduce  to-day  the  consequence  of  the  premises  it  laid 
down  yesterday.  It  may  defer  this  for  ages,  till  the  fullness 
of  time  shall  come.  Its  logic  will  not  be  less  conclusive  for 
reasoning  slowly.  Providence  moves  through  time,  as  the 
gods  of  Homer  through  space — it  makes  a  step,  and  ages 
have  rolled  away!  How  long  a  time,  how  many  circum- 
stances intervened,  before  the  regeneration  of  the  moral 
powers  of  man,  by  Christianity,  exercised  its  great,  its  legiti- 
mate influence  upon  his  social  condition?  Yet  who  can 
doubt  or  mistake  its  power? 

If  we  pass  from  history  to  the  nature  itself  of  the  two 
facts  which  constitute  civilization,  we  are  infallibly  led  to  the 
same  result.  We  have  all  experienced  this.  If  a  man  makes 
a  mental  advance,  some  mental  discovery,  if  he  acquires  some 
new  iaea,  or  some  new  faculty,  what  is  the  desire  that 
takes  possession  of  him  at  the  very  moment  he  makes  it?  It 
is  the  desire  to  promulgate  his  sentiment  to  the  exterior 
world — to  publish  and  realize  his  thought.  When  a  man  ac- 
qures  a  new  truth — when  his  being  in  his  own  ejes  has  made 
an  advance,  has  acquired  a  new  gift,  immediately  there  be- 
comes joined  to  this  acquirement  the  notion  of  a  mission. 
He  feels  obliged,  impelled,  as  it  were,  by  a  secret  interest, 
to  extend,  to  carry  out  of  himself  the  change,  the  meliora- 
tion which  has  been  accomplished  within  him.  To  what, 
but  this,  do  we  owe  the  exertions  of  great  reformers?  The 
exertions  of  those  great  benefactors  of  the  human  race,  who 
have  changed  the  face  of  the  world,  after  having  first  been 
changed  themselves,  have  been  stimulated  and  governed  by 
no  other  impulse  than  thus. 

So  much  for  the  change  which  takes  place  in  the  intellec- 
tual man.  Let  us  now  consider  him  in  a  social  state.  A 
revolution  is  made  in  the  condition  of  society.  Rights  and 
property  are  more  equitably  distributed  among  individuals: 
this  is  as  much  as  to  say,  the  appearance  of  the  world  is 
purer — is  more  beautiful.  The  state  of  things,  both  as  re- 
spects governments,  and  as  respects  men  in  their  relations 
with  each  other,  is  improved.  And  can  there  be  a  question 
whether  the  sight  of  this  goodly  spectacle,  whether  the  me- 
lioration of  this  external  condition  of  man,  will  have  a  cor- 
responding influence  upon  his  moral,  his  individual  char- 
acter— upon  humanity?  Such  a  doubt  would  belie  all  that 
is  said   of  the  authority  of  example  and  of   the  power  of 


20  GENERAL    HISTORY    OF    THE 

habit,  which  is  founded  upon  nothing  but  the  conviction 
that  exterior  facts  and  circumstances,  if  good,  reasonable, 
well-regulated,  are  followed,  sooner  or  later,  more  or  less 
completely,  by  intelleciual  results  of  the  same  nature,  of 
the  same  beauty:  that  a  world  better  governed,  better  regu- 
lated, a  world  in  which  justice  more  fully  prevails,  renders 
man  himself  more  just.  That  the  intellectual  man  then  is 
instructed  and  improved  by  the  superior  condition  of  society 
and  his  social  condition,  his  external  well-being,  meliorated 
and  refined  by  increase  of  intelligence  in  individuals:  that 
the  two  elements  of  civilization  are  strictly  connected:  that 
ages,  that  obstacles  of  all  kinds,  may  interpose  between 
them — that  it  is  possible  they  may  undergo  a  thousand  trans- 
formations before  they  meet  together;  but  that  sooner  or 
later  this  union  will  take  place  is  certain;  for  it  is  a  law  of 
their  nature  that  they  should  do  so — the  great  facts  of  his- 
tory bear  witness  that  such  is  really  the  case — the  instinctive 
belief  of  man  proclaims  the  same  truth. 

Thus,  though  I  have  not  by  a  great  deal  advanced  all 
that  might  be  said  upon  this  subject,  I  trust  I  have  given  a 
tolerably  correct  and  adequate  notion,  in  the  foregoing  cur- 
sory account,  of  what  civilization  is,  of  what  are  its  offices, 
and  what  its  importance.  I  might  here  quit  the  subject; 
but  I  cannot  part  with  it,  without  placing  before  you  another 
question,  which  here  naturally  presents  itself — a  question 
not  purely  historical,  but  rather,  I  will  not  say  hypothetical, 
iDUt  conjectural;  a  question  which  we  can  see  here  but  in 
part;  but  which,  however,  is  not  less  real,  but  presses  itself 
upon  our  notice  at  every  turn  of  thought. 

Of  the  two  developments,  of  which  we  have  just  now 
spoken,  and  which  together  constitute  civilization — of  the 
development  of  society  on  one  part,  and  of  the  expansion  of 
human  intelligence  on  the  other — which  is  the  end?  which 
are  the  means?  Is  it  for  the  improvement  of  the  social  con- 
dition, for  the  melioration  of  his  existence  upon  the  earth, 
that  man  fully  developes  himself,  his  mind,  his  faculties,  his 
sentiments,  his  ideas,  his  whole  being?  Or  is  the  meliora- 
tion of  the  social  condition,  the  progress  of  society — is  in- 
deed society  itself  merely  the  theatre,  the  occasion,  the  mo- 
tive and  excitement  for  the  development  of  the  individual? 
In  a  word,  is  society  formed  for  the  individual,  or  the  indi- 
vidual for  society?  Upon  the  reply  to  this  question  depends 
our  knowledge  of   whether  the   destiny  of   man   is  purely 


CIVILIZATION    OF    MODERN    EUROPE.  21 

social,  whether  society  exhausts  and  absorbs  the  entire  man, 
or  whether  he  bears  within  him  something  foreign,  something 
superior  to  his  existence  in  this  world? 

One  of  the  greatest  philosophers  and  most  distinguished 
men  of  the  present  age,  whose  words  become  indelibly  en- 
graved upon  whatever  spot  they  fall,  has  resolved  this  ques- 
tion;, he  has  resolved  it,  at  least,  according  to  his  own  con- 
viction. The  following  are  his  words:  "Human  societies 
are  born,  live,  and  die,  upon  the  earth;  there  they  accom- 
plish their  destinies.  But  they  contain  not  the  whole  man. 
After  his  engagement  to  society  there  still  remains  in  him 
the  more  noble  part  of  his  nature;  those  high  faculties  by 
which  he  elevates  himself  to  God,  to  a  future  life,  and  to 
the  unknown  blessings  of  an  invisible  world.  We,  individ- 
uals, each  with  a  separate  and  distinct  existence,  with  an 
identical  person,  we,  truly  beings  endowed  with  immortal- 
ity, we  have  a  higher  destiny  than  that  of  states." 

I  shall  add  nothing  on  this  subject;  it  is  not  my  province 
to  handle  it;  it  is  enough  for  me  to  have  placed  it  before 
you.  It  haunts  us  again  at  the  close  of  the  history  of  civili- 
zation. Where  the  history  of  civilization  ends,  when  there 
is  no  more  to  be  said  of  the  present  life,  man  invincibly  de- 
mands if  all  is  over — if  that  be  the  end  of  all  things?  This, 
then,  is  the  last  problem,  and  the  grandest,  to  which  the 
history  of  civilization  can  lead  us.  It  is  sufficient  that  I 
have  marked  its  place,  and  its  sublime  character. 

From  the  foregoing  remarks,  it  becomes  evident  that  the' 
history  of  civilization  may  be  considered  from  two  different 
points  of  view — may  be  drawn  from  two  different  sources. 
The  historian  may  take  up  his  abode  during  the  time  pre- 
scribed, say  a  series  of  centuries,  in  the  human  soul,  or  with 
some  particular  nation.  He  may  study,  describe,  relate,  all 
the  circumstances,  all  the  transformations,  all  the  revolu- 
tions, which  may  have  taken  place  in  the  intellectual  man; 
and  when  he  had  done  this  he  would  have  a  history  of  the 
civilization  among  the  people,  or  during  the  period  which  he 
had  chosen.  He  might  proceed  differently:  instead  of  enter- 
ing into  the  interior  of  man,  he  might  take  his  stand  in  the 
external  world.  He  might  take  his  station  in  the  midst  of  the 
great  theatre  of  life;  instead  of  describing  the  change  of 
ideas,  of  the  sentiments  of  the  individual  being,  he  might 
describe  his  exterior  circumstances,  the  events,  the  revolu- 
tions of  his  social  condition.  These  two  portions,  these  two 
histories  of  civilization,  arc   strictly  connected   with   each 


22  GENERAL    HISTORY    OF    THE 

Other;  they  are  the  counterpart,  the  reflected  image  of  one 
another.  They  may,  however,  be  separated.  Perhaps  it  is 
necessary,  at  least  in  the  beginning,  in  order  to  be  exposed 
in  detail  and  with  clearness,  that  they  should  be.  For  my 
part  I  have  no  intention,  upon  the  present  occasion,  to 
enter  upon  the  history  of  civilization  in  the  human  mind;  the 
history  of  the  exterior  events  of  the  visible  and  social  world 
is  that  to  which  I  shall  call  your  attention.  It  would  give 
me  pleasure  to  be  able  to  display  before  you  the  phenome- 
non of  civilization  in  the  way  I  understand  it,  in  all  its  bear- 
ings, in  its  widest  extent — to  place  before  you  all  the  vast 
questions  to  which  it  gives  rise.  But,  for  the  present,  I 
must  restrain  my  wishes;  I  must  confine  myself  to  a  nar- 
rower field:  it  is  only  the  history  of  the  social  state  that  I 
shall  attempt  to  narrate. 

'"^  My  first  object  will  be  to  seek  out  the  elements  of  Euro- 
pean civilization  at  the  time  of  its  birth,  at  the  fall  of  the 
Roman  empire — to  examine  carefully  society  such  as  it  was 
in  the  midst  of  these  famous  ruins.  I  shall  endeavor  to  pick 
out  these  elements,  and  to  place  them  before  you,  side  by 
side;  I  shall  endeavor  to  put  them  in  motion,  and  to  follow 
them  in  their  progress  through  the  fifteen  centuries  which 
have  rolled  away  since  that  epoch. 

We  shall  not,  I  think,  proceed  far  in  this  study,  without 
being  convinced  that  civilization  is  still  in  its  infancy.  How 
distant  is  the  human  mind  from  the  perfection  To"  which  it 
may  attain — from  the  perfection  for  which  it  was  created! 
How  incapable  are  we  of  grasping  the  w^hole  future  destiny 
of  man!  Let  any  one  even  descend  into  his  own  mind — let 
him  picture  there  the  highest  point  of  perfection  to  which 
man,  to  which  society  may  attain,  that  he  can  conceive,  that 
he  can  hope; — let  him  then  contrast  this  picture  with  the 
present  state  of  the  world,  and  he  will  feel  assured  that  so- 
ciety and  civilization  are  still  in  their  childhood:  that  however 
great  the  distance  they  have  advanced,  that  which  they  have 
before  them  is  incomparably,  is  infinitely  greater.  This, 
however,  should  not  lessen  the  pleasure  with  which  we  con- 
template our  present  condition.  When  you  have  run  over 
with  me  the  great  epochs  of  civilization  during  the  last  fif- 
teen centuries,  you  will  see,  up  to  our  time,  how  painful,  how 
stormy,  has  been  the  condition  of  man;  how  hard  has  been 
his  lot,  not  only  outwardly  as  regards  society,  but  internally, 
as  regards  the  intellectual  man.  For  fifteen  centuries  the 
human  mind  has  suffered  as  much  as  the  human  race.  You 
will  see  that  it  is  only  lately  that  the  human  mind,  perhaps 


CIVILIZATION    OF    MODERN    EUROPE.  23 

for  the  first  time,  has  arrived,  imperfect  though  its  condition 
still  be,  to  a  state  where  some  peace,  some  harmony,  some 
freedom  is  found.  The  same  holds  with  regard  to  society — 
its  immense  progress  is  evident — the  condition  of  man,  com- 
pared with  what  it  has  been,  is  easy  and  just.  In  thinking 
of  our  ancestors  we  may  almost  apply  to  ourselves  the  verses 
of  Lucretius: 

"  Suave  mari  magno,  turbantibus  aequora  ventis, 
E  terra  magnum  alterius  spectare  laborem." 

Without  any  great  degree  of  pride  we  may,  as  Sthenelas 
is  made  to  do  in  Homer,  Hfieig  rol  narepcjv  ijey'  diuivoveg 
evxoned'  eivav,  "Return  thanks  to  God  that  we  are  infinitely 
better  than  our  fathers." 

We  must,  however,  take  care  not  to  deliver  ourselves  up 
too  fully  to  a  notion  of  our  happiness  and  our  improved  con- 
dition. It  may  lead  us  into  two  serious  evils,  pride  and  in- 
activity;— it  may  give  us  an  overweening  confidence  in  the 
power  and  success  of  the  human  mind,  of  its  present  attain- 
ments; and,  at  the  same  time,  dispose  us  to  apathy,  enerva- 
ted by  the  agreeableness  of  our  condition.  I  know  not  if 
this  strikes  you  as  it  does  me,  but  in  my  judgment  we  con- 
tinually oscillate  between  an  inclination  to  complain  without 
sufficient  cause,  and  to  be  too  easily  satisfied.  We  have  an 
extreme  susceptibility  of  mind,  an  inordinate  craving,  an  am- 
bition in  our  thoughts,  in  our  desires,  and  in  the  movements 
of  our  imagination;  yet  when  we  come  to  practical  life — 
when  trouble,  when  sacrifices,  when  efforts  are  required  for 
the  attainment  of  our  object,  we  sink  into  lassitude  and  inac- 
tivity. We  are  discouraged  almost  as  easily  as  we  had  been 
excited.  Let  us  not,  however,  suffer  ourselves  to  be  in- 
vaded by  either  of  these  vices.  Let  us  estimate  fairly  what 
our  abilities,  our  knowledge,  our  power  enable  us  to  do  law- 
fully; and  let  us  aim  at  nothing  that  we  cannot  lawfully, 
justly,  prudently — with  a  proper  respect  to  the  great  princi- 
ples upon  which  our  social  system,  our  civilization  is  based 
— attain.  The  age  of  barbarian  Europe,  with  its  brute  force, 
its  violence,  its  lies  and  deceit — the  habitual  practice  under 
which  Europe  groaned  during  four  or  five  centuries  are 
passed  away  for  ever,  and  has  given  place  to  a  better  order 
of  things.  We  trust  that  the  time  now  approaches  when 
man's  condition  shall  be  progressively  improved  by  the  force 
of  reason  and  truth,  when  the  brute  part  of  nature  shall  be 
crushed,  that  the  godlike  spirit  may  unfold.    In  the  meantime 


24  GENERAL    HISTORY    OF    CIVILIZATION. 

let  US  be  cautious  that  no  vague  desires,  that  no  extravagant 
theories,  the  time  for  which  may  not  yet  be  come,  carry  us 
beyond  the  bounds  of  prudence,  or  beget  in  us  a  discontent 
with  our  present  state.  To  us  much  has  been  given,  of  us 
much  will  be  required.  Posterity  will  demand  a  strict  ac- 
count of  our  conduct — the  public,  the  government,  all  is 
now  open  to  discussion,  to  examination.  Let  us  then  at- 
tach ourselves  firmly  to  the  principles  of  our  civilization,  to 
justice,  to  the  laws,  to  liberty:  and  never  forget,  that,  if  we 
have  the  right  to  demand  that  all  things  shall  be  laid  open 
before  us,  and  judged  by  us,  we  likewise  are  before  the 
world,  who  will  examine  us,  and  judge  us  according  to  our 
works. 


LECTURE   II. 

OF  EUROPEAN  CIVILIZATION  IN  PARTICULAR  :  ITS  DISTIN- 
GUISHING CHARACTERISTICS — ITS  SUPERIORITY — ITS  ELE- 
MENTS. 

In  the  preceding  lecture,  I  endeavored  to  give  an  ex- 
planation of  civilization  in  general.  Without  referring  to 
any  civilization  in  particular,  or  to  circumstances  of  time  and 
place,  I  essayed  to  place  it  before  you  in  a  point  of  view 
purely  philosophical.  I  purpose  now  to  enter  upon  the  His- 
tory of  the  Civilization  of  Europe;  but  before  doing  so,  be- 
fore going  into  its  proper  history,  I  must  make  you  ac- 
quainted with  the  peculiar  character  of  this  civilization — 
with  its  distinguishing  features,  so  that  you  may  be  able  to 
recognize  and  distinguish  European  civilization  from  every 
other. 

When  we  look  at  the  civilizations  which  have  preceded 
that  of  modern  Europe,  whether  in  Asia  or  elsewhere,  in- 
cluding even  those  of  Greece  and  Rome,  it  is  impossible  not 
to  be  struck  with  the  unity  of  character  which  reigns  among 
them.  Each  appears  as  though  it  had  emanated  from  a  sin- 
gle fact,  from  a  single  idea.  One  might  almost  assert  that 
society  was  under  the  influence  of  one  single  principle, 
which  universally  prevailed  and  determined  the  character 
of  its  institutions,  its  manners,  its  opinions — in  a  word,  all 
its  developments. 

In  Egypt,  for  example,  it  was  the  theocratic  principle 
that  took  possession  of  society,  and  showed  itself  in  its  man- 
ners, in  its  monuments,  and  in  all  that  has  come  down  to  us 
of  Egyptian  civilization.  In  India  the  same  phenomenon 
occurs — it  is  still  a  repetition  of  the  almost  exclusively  pre- 
vailing influence  of  theocracy.  In  other  regions  a  differ- 
ent organization  may  be  observed — perhaps  the  domination 
of  a  conquering  caste:  and  where  such  is  the  case,  the  prin- 
ciple of  force  takes  entire  possession  of  society,  imposing 
upon  it  its  laws  and  its  character.  In  another  place,  perhaps, 
we  discover  society  under  the  entire  influence  of  the  demo- 
cratic principle;  such  was  the  case  in  the  commercial  repub- 
lics which  covered  the  coasts  of  Asia  Minor  and  Syria — in 


26  GENERAL    HISTORY    OF 

Ionia  and  Phoenicia.  In  a  word,  whenever  we  contemplate 
the  civilizations  of  the  ancients,  we  find  them  all  impressed 
with  one  ever-prevailing  character  of  unity,  visible  in  their 
institutions,  their  ideas,  and  manners — one  sole,  or  at  least 
one  very  preponderating  influence,  seems  to  govern  and  de- 
termine all  things. 

I  do  not  mean  to  aver  that  this  overpowering  influence  of 
one  single  principle,  of  one  single  form,  prevailed  without 
any  exception  in  the  civilization  of  those  states.  If  we  go 
back  to  their  earliest  history,  we  shall  find  that  the  various 
powers  which  dwelt  in  the  bosom  of  the  societies  frequently 
struggled  for  mastery.  Thus  among  the  Egyptians,  the 
Etruscans,  even  among  the  Greeks  and  others,  we  may  ob- 
serve the  warrior  caste  struggling  against  that  of  the  priests. 
In  other  places  we  find  the  spirit  of  clanship  stuggling  against 
the  spirit  of  free  association,  the  spirit  of  aristocracy  against 
popular  rights.  These  struggles,  however,  mostly  took  place 
in  periods  beyond  the  reach  of  history,  and  no  evidence  of 
them  it  left  beyond  a  vague  tradition. 

Sometimes,  indeed,  these  early  struggles  broke  out  afresh 
at  a  later  period  in  the  history  of  the  nations;  but  in  almost 
every  case  they  were  quickly  terminated  by  the  victory  of 
one  of  the  powers  which  sought  to  prevail,  and  which  then 
took  sole  possession  of  society.  The  war  always  ended  by 
the  domination  of  some  special  principle,  which,  if  not  exclu- 
sive, at  least  greatly  predonderated.  The  co-existence  and 
strife  of  various  principles  among  these  nations  were  no 
more  than  a- passing,  an  accidental  circumstance. 

From  this  cause  a  remarkable  unity  characterizes  most 
of  the  civilizations  of  antiquity,  the  results  of  which,  how- 
ever, were  very  different.  In  one  nation,  as  in  Greece, 
the  unity  of  the  social  principle  led  to  a  development  of  won- 
derful rapidity;  no  other  people  ever  ran  so  brilliant  a  career 
in  so  short  a  time.  But  Greece  had  hardly  become  glori- 
ous, before  she  appeared  worn  out:  her  decline,  if  not  quite 
so  rapid  as  her  rise,  was  strangely  sudden.  It  see^ms  as  if 
the  principle  which  called  Greek  civilization  into  life  was  ex- 
hausted.   No  other  came  to  invigorate  it,  or  supply  its  place. 

In  other  states,  say,  for  example,  in  India  and  Egypt, 
where  again  only  one  principle  of  civilization  prevailed,  the 
resuh  was  different.  Society  here  became  stationary;  sim- 
plicity produced  monotomy;  the  country  was  not  destroyed; 
society  continued  to  exist;  but  there  was  no  progression;  it 
remained  torpid  and  inactive. 


CIVILIZATION    IN    MODERN    EUROPE.  27 

To  this  same  cause  must  be  attributed  that  character  of 
tyranny  which  prevailed,  under  various  names,  and  the  most 
opposite  forms,  in  all  the  civilizations  of  antiquity.  Society 
belonged  to  one  exclusive  power,  which  could  bear  with  no 
other.  Every  principle  of  a  different  tendency  was  pro- 
scribed. The  governing  principle  would  nowhere  suffer  by 
its  side  the  manifestation  and  influence  of  a  rival  principle. 

This  character  of  simplicity,  of  unity,  in  their  civilization, 
is  equally  impressed  upon  their  literature  and  intellectual 
productions.  Who  that  has  run  over  the  monuments  of 
Hindoo'  literature  lately  introduced  into  Europe,  but  has 
seen  that  they  are  all  struck  from  the  same  die?  They  all 
seem  the  result  of  one  same  fact;  the  expression  of  one  same 
idea.  Religious  and  moral  treatises,  historical  traditions, 
dramatic  poetry,  epics,  all  bear  the  same  physiognomy.  The 
same  character  of  unity  and  monotony  shines  out  in  these 
works  of  mind  and  fancy,  as  we  discover  in  their  life  and  insti- 
tutions. Even  in  Greece,  notwithstanding  the  immense  stores 
of  knowledge  and  intellect  which  it  poured  forth,  a  wonder- 
ful unity  still  prevailed  in  all  relating  to  literature  and  the  arts. 

How  different  to  all  this  is  the  case  as  respects  the  civili- 
zation of  modern  Europe!  Take  ever  so  rapid  a  glance  at 
this,  and  it  strikes  you  at  once  as  diversified,  confused,  and 
stormy.  All  the  principles  of  social  organization  are  found 
existing  together  within  it;  powers  temporal,  powers  spiritual, 
the  theocratic,  monarchic,  aristocratic,  and  democratic  ele- 
ments, all  classes  of  society,  all  the  social  situations,  are 
jumbled  together,  and  visible  within  it;  as  well  as  infinite 
gradations  of  liberty,  of  wealth,  and  of  influence.  These 
various  powers,  too,  are  found  here  in  a  state  of  continual 
struggle  among  themselves,  without  any  one  having  sufficient 
force  to  master  the  others,  and  take  sole  possession  of  society. 
Among  the  ancients,  at  every  great  epoch,  all  communities 
seem  cast  in  the  same  mould:  it  was  now  pure  monarchy, 
now  theocracy  or  democracy,  that  became  the  reigning  prin- 
ciple, each  in  its  turn  reigning  absolutely.  But  modern 
Europe  contains  examples  of  all  these  systems,  of  all  the 
attempts  at  social  organization;  pure  and  mixed  monarchies, 
theocracies,  republics  more  or  less  aristocratic,  all  live  in 
common,  side  by  side,  at  one  and  the  same  time;  yet,  not- 
withstanding their  diversity,  they  all  bear  a  certan  resem  ■ 
blance  to  each  other,  a  kind  of  family  likeness  which  it  is 
impossible  to  mistake,  and  which  shows  them  to  be  essentially 
European. 


28  GENERAL    HISTORY    OF 

In  the  moral  character,  in  the  notions  and  sentiments  of 
Europe,  we  find  the  same  variety,  the  same  struggle.  Theo- 
cratical  opinions,  monarchical  opinions,  aristocratic  opinions, 
democratic  opinions,  cross  and  jostle,  struggle,  become  inter- 
woven, limit,  and  modify  each  other.  Open  the  boldest 
treatises  of  the  middle  age:  in  none  of  them  is  an  opinion 
carried  to  its  final  consequences.  The  advocates  of  absolute 
power  clinch,  almost  unconsciously,  from  the  results  to  which 
their  doctrine  would  carry  them.  We  see  that  the  ideas  and 
influences  around  them  frighten  them  from  pushing  it  to  its 
uttermost  point.  Democracy  felt  the  same  control.  That 
imperturable  boldness,  so  striking  in  ancient  civilizations,  no- 
where found  a  place  in  the  European  system.  In  sentiments 
we  discover  the  same  contrasts,  the  same  variety;  an  indom- 
itable taste  for  independence  dwelling  by  the  side  of  the 
greatest  aptness  for  submission;  a  singular  fidelity  between 
man  and  man,  and  at  the  same  time  an  imperious  desire  in 
each  to  do  his  own  will,  to  shake  off  all  restraint,  to  live 
alone,  without  troubling  himself  with  the  rest  of  the  world. 
Minds  were  as  much  diversified  as  society. 

The  same  characteristic  is  observable  in  literature.  It 
cannot  be  denied  that  in  what  relates  to  the  form  and  beauty 
of  art,  modern  Europe  is  very  inferior  to  antiquity;  but  if  we 
look  at  her  literature  as  regards  depth  of  feeling  and  ideas, 
it  will  be  found  more  powerful  and  rich.  The  human  mind 
has  been  employed  upon  a  greater  number  of  objects,  its 
labors  have  been  more  diversified,  it  has  gone  to  a  greater 
depth.  Its  imperfection  in  form  is  owing  to  this  very  cause. 
The  more  plenteous  and  rich  the  materials,  the  greater  is  the 
difficulty  of  forcing  them  into  a  pure  and  simple  form.  That 
which  gives  beauty  to  a  composition,  that  which  in  works  of 
art  we  call  form,  is  the  clearness,  the  simplicity,  the  symbol- 
ical unity  of  the  work.  With  the  prodigious  diversity  of  ideas 
and  sentiments  which  belong  to  European  civilization,  the 
difficulty  to  attain  this  grand  and  chaste  simplicity  has  been 
increased. 

In  every  part,  then,  we  find  this  character  of  variety  to 
prevail  in  modern  civilization.  It  has  undoubtedly  brought 
with  it  this  inconvenience,  that  when  we  consider  separately 
any  particular  development  of  the  human  mind  in  literature, 
in  the  arts,  in  any  of  the  w^ays  in  which  human  intelligence 
may  go  forward,  we  shall  generally  find  it  inferior  to  the  cor- 
responding  development    in    the    civilization    of   antiquity; 


CIVILIZATION    IN    MODERN    EUROPE.  29 

but,  as  a  set-off  to  this,  when  we  regard  it  as  a  whole,  Euro- 
pean civihzation  appears  incomparably  more  rich  and  diver- 
sified: if  each  particular  fruit  has  not  attained  the  same 
perfection,  it  has  ripened  an  infinitely  greater  variety. 
Again,  European  civilization  has  now  endured  fifteen  cen- 
turies, and  in  all  that  time  it  has  been  in  a  state  of  progres-" 
sion.  It  may  be  true  that  it  has  not  advanced  so  rapidly  as 
the  Greek;  but,  catching  new  impulses  at  every  step,  it  is 
still  advancing.  An  unbounded  career  is  open  before  it; 
and  from  day  to  day  it  presses  forward  to  the  race  with  in- 
creasing rapidity,  because  increased  freedom  attends  upon 
all  its  movements.  While  in  other  civilizations  the  exclusive 
domination,  or  at  least  the  excessive  preponderance  of  a  sin- 
gle principle,  of  a  single  form,  led  to  tyranny,  in  modern 
Europe  the  diversity  of  the  elements  of  social  order,  the 
incapability  of  any  one  to  exclude  the  rest,  gave  birth  to  the 
liberty  which  now  prevails.  The  inability  of  the  various 
principles  to  exterminate  one  another  compelled  each  to  en- 
dure the  others,  made  it  necessary  for  them  to  live  in  com- 
mon, for  them  to  enter  into  a  sort  of  mutual  understanding. 
Each  consented  to  have  only  that  part  of  civilizaion  which 
fell  to  its  share.  Thus,  while  every^7here  else  the  predomi- 
nance of  one  principle  has  produced  tyranny,  the  variety  of 
elements  of  European  civilization,  and  the  constant  warfare 
in  which  they  have  been  engaged,  have  given  birth  in  Europe 
to  that  liberty  which  we  prize  so  dearly. 

It  is  this  which  gives  to  European  civilization  its  real,  its 
immense  superiority — it  is  this  which  forms  its  essential, 
its  distinctive  character.  And  if,  carrying  our  views  still 
further,  we  penetrate  beyond  the  surface  into  the  very  nature 
of  things  we  shall  find  that  this  superiority  is  legitimate — 
that  it  is  acknowledged  by  reason  as  well  as  proclaimed  by 
facts.  Quitting  for  a  moment  European  civilization,  and 
taking  a  glance  at  the  world  in  general,  at  the  common 
course  of  earthly  things,  what  is  the  character  we  find  it  to 
bear?  What  do  we  here  perceive?  Why  just  that  very  same 
diversity,  that  very  same  variety  of  elements,  that  very  same 
struggle  which  is  so  strikingly  evinced  in  European  civiliza- 
tion. It  is  plain  enough  that  no  single  principle,  no  particu- 
lar organization,  no  simple  idea,  no  special  power  has  ever 
been  permitted  to  obtain  possession  of  the  world,  to  mould 
it  into  a  durable  form,  and  to  drive  from  it  every  opposing 
tendency,  so  as  to  reign  itself  supreme.  Various  powers, 
principles,  and  systems  here  intermingle,  modify  one  another, 


30  GENERAL    HISTORY    OF 

and  struggle  incessantly — now  subduing,  now  subdued — 
never  wholly  conquered,  never  conquering.  Such  is  appar- 
ently the  general  state  of  the  world,  while  diversity  of  forms, 
of  ideas,  of  principles,  their  struggles  and  their  energies,  all 
tend  toward  a  certain  unity,  a  certain  ideal,  which,  though 
perhaps  it  may  never  be  attained,  mankind  is  constantly  ap- 
proaching by  dint  of  liberty  and  labor.  Hence  European 
civilization  is  the  reflected  image  of  the  world — like  the 
course  of  earthly  things,  it  is  neither  narrowly  circumscribed, 
exclusive,  nor  stationary.  For  the  first  time,  civilization 
appears  to  have  divested  itself  of  its  special  character:  its 
development  presents  itself  for  the  first  time  under  as  diversi- 
fied, as  abundant,  as  laborious  an  aspect  as  the  great  theatre 
of  the  universe  itself. 

European  civilization  has,  if  I  may  be  allowed  the  expres- 
sion, at  last  penetrated  into  the  ways  of  eternal  triith — into  the 
scheme  of  Providence; — it  moves  in  the  ways  which  God  has 
prescribed.     This  is  the  rational  principle  of  its  superiority. 

Let  it  not,  I  beseech  you,  be  forgotten — bear  in  mind,  as 
we  proceed  with  these  lectures,  that  it  is  in  this  diversity  of 
elements,  and  their  constant  struggle,  that  the  essential 
character  of  our  civilization  consists.  At  present  I  can  do 
no  more  than  assert  this;  its  proof  will  be  found  in  the  facts 
I  shall  bring  before  you.  Still  1  think  you  will  acknowledge 
it  to  be  a  confirmation  of  this  assertion,  if  I  can  show  you 
that  the  causes,  and  the  elements  of  the  character  which  I 
have  just  attributed  to  it,  can  be  traced  to  the  very  cradle  of 
our  civilization.  If,  I  say,  at  the  very  moment  of  her  birth, 
at  the  very  hour  in  which  the  Roman  empire  fell,  I  can  show 
you,  in  the  state  of  the  world,  the  circumstances  which, 
from  the  beginning,  have  concurred  to  give  to  European 
civilization  that  agitated  and  diversified,  but  at  the  same  time 
prolific  character  which  distinguishes  it,  I  think  I  shall  have 
a  strong  claim  upon  your  assent  to  its  truth.  In  order  to 
accomplish  this,  I  shall  begin  by  investigating  the  condition 
of  Europe  at  the  fall  of  the  Roman  empire,  so  that  we  may 
discover  in  its  institutions,  in  its  opinions,  its  ideas,  its  sen- 
timents, what  were  the  elements  which  the  ancient  world 
bequeathed  to  the  modern.  And  upon  these  elements  you 
will  see  strongly  impressed  the  character  which  I  have  just 
described. 

It  is  necessary  that  we  should  first  see  what  the  Roman 
empire  was,  and  how  it  was  formed. 


CIVILIZATION    IN    MODERN    EUROPE.  3I 

Rome  in  its  origin  was  a  mere  municipality,  a  corpora- 
tion. The  Roman  government  was  nothing  more  than  an 
assemblage  of  institutions  suitable  to  a  population  enclosed 
within  the  walls  of  a  city;  that  is  to  say,  they  were  7Jiunicipal 
institutions; — this  was  their  distinctive  character. 

This  was  not  peculiar  to  Rome.  If  we  look,  in  this  period, 
at  the  part  of  Italy,  which  surrounded  Rome  we  find  nothing 
but  cities.  What  were  then  called  nations  were  nothing 
more  than  confederations  of  cities.  The  Latin  nation  was  a 
confederation  of  Latin  cities.  The  Etrurians,  the  Samnites, 
the  Sabines,  the  nations  of  Magna  Graecia,  were  all  com- 
posed in  the  same  way. 

At  this  time  there  were  no  country  places,  no  villages;  at 
least  the  country  was  nothing  like  what  it  is  in  the  present 
day.  It  was  cultivated,  no  doubt,  but  it  was  not  peopled. 
The  proprietors  of  lands  and  of  country  estates  dwelt  in 
cities;  they  left  these  occasionally  to  visit  their  rural  prop- 
erty, where  they  usually  kept  a  certain  number  of  slaves; 
but  that  which  we  now  call  the  country,  that  scattered  popu- 
lation, sometimes  in  lone  houses,  sometimes  in  hamlets  and 
villages,  and  which  everywhere  dots  our  land  with  agricultural 
dwellings,  was  altogether  unknown  in  ancient  Italy. 

And  what  was  the  case  when  Rome  extended  her  boun- 
daries? If  we  follow  her  history,  we  shall  find  that  she  con- 
quered or  founded  a  host  of  cities.  It  was  with  cities  she 
fought,  it  was  w^ith  cities  she  treated,  it  was  into  cities  she 
sent  colonies.  In  short,  the  history  of  the  conquest  of  the 
world  by  Rome  is  the  history  of  the  conquest  and  founda- 
tion of  a  vast  number  of  cities.  It  is  true  that  in  the  East 
the  extension  of  the  Roman  dominion  bore  somewhat  of  a 
different  character;  the  population  was  not  distributed  there 
in  the  same  way  as  in  the  western  world;  it  was  under  a 
social  system,  partaking  more  of  the  patriarchal  form,  and 
was  consequently  much  less  concentrated  in  cities.  But,  as 
we  have  only  to  do  with  the  population  of  Europe,  I  shall 
not  dwell  upon  what  relates  to  that  of  the  East. 

Confining  ourselves,  then,  to  the  West,  we  shall  find  the 
fact  to  be  such  as  I  have  described  it.  In  the  Gauls,  in 
Spain,  we  meet  with  nothing  but  cities.  At  any  distance 
from  these,  the  country  consisted  of  marshes  and  forests. 
Examine  the  character  of  the  monuments  left  us  of  ancient 
Rome — the  old  Roman  roads.  We  find  great  roads  extend- 
mg  from  city  to  city;  but  the  thousands  of  little  by-paths, 


32  GENERAL    HISTORY    OF 

which  now  intersect  every  part  of  the  country,  were  then 
unknown.  Neither  do  we  find  any  traces  of  that  immense 
number  of  lesser  objects — of  churches,  castles,  country-seats, 
and  villages,  which  were  spread  all  over  the  country  during 
the  middle  ages.  Rome  has  left  no  traces  of  this  kind;  her 
only  bequest  consists  of  vast  monuments  impressed  with  a 
municipal  character,  destined  for  a  numerous  population, 
crowded  into  a  single  spot.  In  whatever  point  of  view  you 
consider  the  Roman  world,  you  meet  with  this  almost  exclu- 
sive preponderance  of  cities,  and  an  absence  of  country 
populations  and  dwellings.  This  municipal  character  of  the 
Roman  world  evidently  rendered  the  unity,  the  social  tie  of 
a  great  state,  extremely  difficult  to  establish  and  maintain. 

A  municipal  corporation  like  Rome  might  be  able  to  con- 
quer the  world,  but  it  was  a  much  more  difficult  task  to 
govern  it,  to  mould  it  into  one  compact  body.  Thus,  when 
the  work  seemed  done,  when  all  the  West,  and  a  great  part 
of  the  East,  had  submitted  to  the  Roman  yoke,  we  find  an 
immense  host  of  cities,  of  little  states  formed  for  separate 
existence  and  independence,  breaking  their  chains,  escaping 
on  every  side.  This  was  one  of  the  causes  which  made  the 
establishment  of  the  empire  necessary;  which  called  for  a 
more  concentrated  form  of  government,  one  better  able  to 
hold  together  elements  which  had  so  few  pomts  of  cohesion. 
The  empire  endeavored  to  unite  and  to  bind  together  this 
extensive  and  scattered  society;  and  to  a  certain  point  it 
succeeded.  Between  the  reigns  of  Augustus  and  Dioclesian, 
during  the  very  time  that  her  admirable  civil  legislation  was 
being  carried  to  perfection,  that  vast  and  despotic  adminis- 
tration was  established,  which,  spreading  over  the  empire  a 
sort  of  chain-work  of  functionaries  subordinately  arranged, 
firmly  knit  together  the  people  and  the  imperial  court,  serv- 
ing at  the  same  time  to  convey  to  society  the  will  of  the 
government,  and  to  bring  to  the  government  the  tribute  and 
obedience  of  society. 

This  system,  besides  rallying  the  forces,  and  holding  to- 
gether the  elements,  of  the  Roman  world,  introduced  with 
wonderful  celerity  into  society  a  taste  for  despotism,  for  cen- 
tral power.  It  is  truly  astonishing  to  see  how  rapidly  this 
incoherent  assemblage  of  little  republics,  this  association  of 
municipal  corporations,  sunk  into  an  humble  and  obedient 
respect  for  the  sacred  name  of  emperor.  The  necessity  for 
establishing  some  tie  between  all  these  parts  of  the  Romaii 


CiViLiZATlON    IN    MODERN    EUROPE.  -33 

world  must  have  been  very  apparent  and  powerful,  otherwise 
we  can  hardly  conceive  how  the  spirit  of  despotism  could  so 
easily  have  made  its  way  into  the  minds  and  almost  into  the 
affections  of  the  people. 

It  was  with  this  spirit,  with  this  administrative  organiza- 
tion, and  with  the  military  system  connected  with  it,  that  the 
Roman  empire  struggled  against  the  dissolution  which  was 
working  within  it,  and  against  the  barbarian  who  attacked  it 
from  without.  But,  though  it  struggled  long,  the  day  at 
length  arrived  when  all  the  skill  and  power  of  despotism, 
when  all  the  pliancy  of  servitude,  was  insufficient  to  prolong 
its  fate.  In  the  fourth  century,  all  the  ties  which  had  held 
this  immense  body  together  seem  to  have  been  loosened  or 
snapped;  the  barbarians  broke  in  on  every  side;  the  province 
no  longer  resisted,  no  longer  troubled  themselves  with  the 
general  destiny.  At  this  crisis  an  extraordinary  idea  entered 
the  minds  of  one  or  two  of  the  emperors:  they  wished  to  try 
whether  the  hope  of  general  liberty,  whether  a  confederation, 
a  system  something  like  what  we  now  call  the  representative 
system,  would  not  better  defend  the  Roman  empire  than  the 
despotic  administration  which  already  existed.  There  is  a 
mandate  of  Honorius  and  the  younger  Theodosius,  addressed, 
in  the  year  418,  to  the  prefect  of  Gaul,  the  object  of  which 
was  to  establish  a  sort  of  representative  government  in  the 
south  of  Gaul,  and  by  its  aid  still  to  preserve  the  unity  of 
empire. 

Rescript  of  the  Emperors  Hotiorms   and  Theodosius  the  Younger,  ad- 
dressed, in  the  year  418,  to  the  Prefect  of  the  Gauls,  residing  at  Aries. 

"  Honorius  and  Theodosius,  Augusti,  to  Agricoli,  Prefect  of  the 
Gauls. 

.  "  In  consequence  of  the  very  salutary  representation  which  your 
Magnificence  has  made  to  us,  as  well  as  upon  other  information  ob- 
viously advantageous  to  the  republic,  we  decree,  in  order  that  they  may 
have  the  force  of  a  perpetual  law,  that  the  following  regulations  should 
be  made,  and  that  obedience  should  be  paid  to  them  by  the  inhabitants 
of  our  seven  provinces,  and  which  are  such  as  they  themselves  should 
wish  for  and  require.  Seeing  that  from  motives,  both  of  public  and 
private  utility,  responsible  persons  of  special  deputies  should  be  sent, 
not  only  by  each  province,  but  by  each  city,  to  your  Magnificence,  not 
only  to  render  up  accounts,  but  also  to  treat  of  such  matters  as  concern 
the  interest  of  landed  proprietors,  we  have  judged  that  it  would  be  both 
convenient  and  highly  advanantageous  to  have  annually,  at  a  fixed 
period,  and  to  date  from  the  present  year,  an  assembly  for  the  inhabi- 
tants of  the  seven  provinces  held  in  the  Metropolis,  that  is  to  say,  in  the 
city  of  Aries.    By  this  institution  our  desire  is  to  provide  both  for  public 


34  GENERAL    HISTORY    OF 

and  private  interests.  First,  by  the  union  of  the  most  influential  in- 
habitants in  the  presence  of  their  illustrious  Prefect,  (unless  he  should 
be  absent  from  causes  affecting  public  order,)  and  by  their  delibera- 
tions, upon  every  subject  brought  before  them,  the  best  possible  advice 
will  be  obtained.  Nothing  which  shall  have  been  treated  of  and  deter- 
mined upon,  after  a  mature  discussion,  shall  be  kept  from  the  knowl- 
edge of  the  rest  of  the  provinces  ;  and  such  as  have  not  assisted  at  the 
assembly  shall  be  bound  to  follow  the  same  rules  of  justice  and  equity. 
Furthermore,  by  ordaining  that  an  assembly  should  be  held  every  year 
in  the  city  of  Constantine,  we  believe  that  we  are  doing  not  only  what  will 
be  advantageous  to  the  public  welfare,  but  what  will  also  multiply  its 
social  relations.  Indeed,  this  city  is  so  favorably  situated,  foreigners 
resort  to  it  in  such  large  numbers,  and  it  possesses  so  extensive  a  com- 
merce, that  all  the  varied  productions  and  manufactures  of  the  rest  of 
the  world  are  to  be  seen  within  it.  All  that  the  opulent  East,  the  per- 
fumed Arabia,  the  delicate  Assyria,  the  fertile  Africa,  the  beautiful 
Spain,  and  the  courageous  Gaul,  produce  worthy  of  note,  abound  here 
in  such  profusion,  that  all  things  admired  as  magnificent  in  the  different 
parts  of  the  world  seem  the  productions  of  its  own  climate.  Further, 
the  union  of  the  Rhone  and  the  Tuscan  sea  so  facilitate  intercourse,  that 
the  countries  which  the  former  traverses,  and  the  latter  waters  in  its 
winding  course,  are  made  almost  neighbors.  Thus,  as  the  whole  earth 
yields  up  its  most  esteemed  productions  for  the  service  of  this  city,  as 
the  particular  commodities  of  each  country  are  transported  to  it  by 
land,  by  sea,  by  rivers,  by  ships,  by  rafts,  by  wagons,  how  can  our  Gaul 
fail  of  seeing  the  great  benefit  we  confer  upon  it  by  convoking  a  public 
assembly  to  be  held  in  this  city,  upon  which,  by  a  special  gift,  as  it  were, 
of  Divine  Providence,  has  been  showered  all  the  enjoyments  of  life,  and 
all  the  facilities  for  commerce  ? 

"The  illustrious  Prefect  Petronius  did, some  time  ago,  with  a  praise- 
worthy and  enlightened  view,  ordain  that  this  custom  should  be  ob- 
served ;  but  as  its  practice  was  interrupted  by  the  troubles  of  the  times 
and  the  reign  of  usurpers,  we  have  resolved  to  put  it  again  in  force,  by 
the  prudent  exercise  of  our  authority.  Thus,  then,  dear  and  well- 
beloved  cousin  Agricoli,  your  Magnificence,  conforming  to  our  present 
ordinance  and  the  custom  established  by  your  predecessors,  will  cau.se 
the  following  regulations  to  be  observed  in  the  provinces : — 

"  It  will  be  necessary  to  make  known  unto  all  persons  honored  with 
public  functions  or  proprietors  of  domains,  and  to  all  the  judges  of 
provinces,  that  they  must  attend  in  council  every  year  in  the  city  of 
Aries,  between  the  Ides  of  August  and  September,  the  days  of  convo- 
cation and  of  session  to  be  fixed  at  pleasure. 

"  Novempopulana  and  the  second  Aquitaine,  being  the  most  distant 
provinces,  shall  have  the  power,  according  to  custom,  to  send,  if  their 
judges  should  be  detained  by  indispensable  duties,  deputies  in  their 
stead. 

"  Such  persons  as  neglect  to  attend  at  (he  place  appointed,  and  within 
the  prescribed  period,  shall  pay  a  fine  :  viz.,  judges,  five  pounds  of  gold; 
members  of  the  curiae  and  other  dignitaries,  three  pounds. 

"  By  this  measure  we  conceive  we  are  granting  great  advantages  and 
favor  to  the  inhabitants  of  our  provinces.  We  have  also  the  certainty  of 
adding  to  the  welfare  of  the  city  of  Aries,  to  the  fidelity  of  which,  accord- 
ing to  our  father  and  countryman,  we  owe  so  much. 

"Given  the  15th  of  the  calends  of  May;  received  at  Aries  the  loth 
of  the  calends  of  June." 


CIVILIZATION    IN    MODERN    EUROPE.  35 

Notwithstanding  this  call,  the  provinces  and  cities  refused 
the  proffered  boon;  nobody  would  name  deputies,  none 
would  go  to  Aries.  This  centralization,  this  unity,  was  op- 
posed to  the  primitive  nature  of  this  society.  The  spirit  of 
locality,  and  o^  municipality,  everywhere  reappeared;  the 
impossibility  of  reconstructing  a  general  society,  of  building 
up  the  whole  into  one  general  state,  became  evident.  The 
cities,  confining  themselves  to  the  affairs  of  their  own  cor- 
porations, shut  themselves  up  within  their  own  walls,  and 
the  empire  fell,  because  none  would  belong  to  the  empire; 
because  citizens  wished  but  to  belong  to  their  city.  Thus 
the  Roman  empire,  at  its  fall,  was  resolved  into  the  elements 
of  which  it  had  been  composed,  and  the  preponderance  of 
municipal  rule  and  government  was  again  everywhere  visible. 
The  Roman  world  had  been  formed  of  cities,  and  to  cities 
again  it  returned. 

This  municipal  system  was  the  bequest  of  the  ancient 
Roman  civiliation  to  modern  Europe.  It  had  no  doubt  be- 
-come  feeble,  irregular,  and  very  inferior  to  what  it  had  been 
at  an  earlier  period;  but  it  was  the  only  living  principle,  the 
only  one  that  retained  any  form,  the  only  one  that  survived 
the  general  destruction  of  the  Roman  world. 

When  I  say  the  only  one,  I  mistake.  There  was  another 
phenomenon,  another  idea,  whch  likewise  outlived  it.  I 
mean  the  remembrance  of  the  empire,  and  the  title  of  the 
emperor — the  idea  of  imperial  majesty,  and  of  absolute 
power  attached  to  the  name  of  emperor.  It  must  be  ob- 
served, then,  that  the  two  elements  which  passed  from  the 
Roman  civilization  into  ours  were,  firsts  the  system  of 
municipal  corporations,  its  habits,  its  regulations,  its  prin- 
ciple of  liberty — a  general  civil  .legislation,  common  to  all; 
secondly^  the  idea  of  absolute  power; — the  principle  of  order 
and  the  principle  of  servitude. 

Meanwhile,  within  the  very  heart  of  Roman  society,  there 
had  grown  up  another  society  of  a  very  different  nature, 
founded  upon  different  principles,  animated  by  different 
sentiments,  and  which  has  brought  into  European  civilization 
elements  of  a  widely  different  character:  I  speak  of  the 
Christian  Church.  I  say  the  Christian  Church,  and  not  Chris- 
tianity, between  which  a  broad  distinction  is  to  be  made. 
At  the  end  of  the  fourth  century,  and  the  beginning  of  the 
fifth,  Christianity  was   no  longer  a  simple  belief,  it  was  an 


36  GENERAL    HISTORY    OF 

institution — it  had  formed  itself  into  a  corporate  body.  It 
had  its  government,  a  body  of  priests;  a  settled  ecclesiastical 
polity  for  the  regulation  of  their  different"  functions;  rev- 
enues; independent  means  of  influence.  It  had  the  rallying 
points  suitable  to  a  great  society,  in  its  provincial,  national, 
and  general  councils,  in  which  were  wont  to  be  debated  in 
common  the  affairs  of  society.  In  a  word,  the  Christian 
religion,  at  this  epoch,  was  no  longer  merely  a  religion,  it 
was  a  church. 

Had  it  not  been  a  church,  it  is  hard  to  say  what  would 
have  been  its  fate  in  the  general  convulsion  which  attended 
the  overthrow  of  the  Roman  empire.  Looking  only  to 
worldly  means,  putting  out  of  the  question  the  aids  and 
superintending  power  of  Divine  Providence,  and  considering 
only  the  natural  effects  of  natural  causes,  it  would  be  difficult 
to  say  how  Christianity,  if  it  had  continued  what  it  was  at 
first,  a  mere  belief,  an  individual  conviction,  could  have 
withstood  the  shock  occasioned  by  the  dissolution  of  the 
Roman  empire  and  the  invasion  of  the  barbarians.  At  a 
later  period,  when  it  had  even  become  an  institution,  an 
established  church,  it  fell  in  Asia  and  the  North  of  Africa, 
upon  an  invasion  of  a  like  kind — that  of  the  Mohammedans; 
and  circumstances  seem  to  point  out  that  it  was  still  more 
likely  such  would  have  been  its  fate  at  the  fall  of  the  Roman 
empire.  At  this  time  there  existed  none  of  those  means  by 
which  in  the  preseht  day  moral  influences  become  established 
or  rejected  without  the  aid  of  institutions;  none  of  those 
means  by  which  an  abstract  truth  now  makes  way,  gains  an 
authority  over  mankind,  governs  their  actions,  and  directs 
their  movements.  Nothing  of  this  kind  existed  in  the  fourth 
century;  nothing  which  could  give  to  simple  ideas,  to  per- 
sonal opinions,  so  much  weight  and  power.  Hence  I  think 
it  may  be  assumed,  that  only  a  society  firmly  established, 
under  a  powerful  government  and  rules  of  discipline,  could 
hope  to  bear  up  amid  such  disasters — could  hope  to  weather 
so  violent  a  storm.  I  think,  then,  humanly  speaking,  that  it 
is  not  too  much  to  aver,  that  in  the  fourth  and  fifth  centuries 
it  was  the  Christian  Church  that  saved  Christianity;  that  it 
was  the  Christian  Church,  with  its  institutions,  its  magis- 
trates, its  authority — the  Christian  Church,  which  struggled 
so  vigorously  to  prevent  the  interior  dissolution  of  the  em- 
pire, which  struggled  against  the  barbarian,  and  which,  in 
fact,  overcame  the  barbarian; — it  was  this  Church,  I  say,  that 
became  the  great  connecting  link — the  principle  of  civiliza- 


CiVILiZATION    IN    MOt)ERN    EtJROPil.  37 

tion  between  the  Roman  and  the  barbarian  world.  It  is  the 
state  of  the  Church,  then,  rather  than  religion  strictly  under- 
stood— rather  than  that  pure  and  simple  faith  of  the  Gospel 
wh-ich  all  true  believers  must  regard  as  its  highest  triumph 
— that  we  must  look  at  in  the  fifth  century,  in  order  to  dis- 
cover what  influence  Christianity  had  from  this  time  upon 
modern  civilization,  and  what  are  the  elements  it  has  intro- 
duced into  it. 

Let  us  see  what  at  this  epoch  the  Christian  Church  really 
was. 

If  we  look,  still  in  an  entirely  worldly  point  of  view — if 
we  look  at  the  changes  which  Christianity  underwent  from 
its  first  rise  to  the  fifth  century — if  we  examine  it  (still,  I 
repeat,  not  in  a  religious,  but  solely  in  a  political  sense)  we 
shall  find  that  it  passed  through  three  essentially  different 
states. 

In  infancy,  in  its  very  babyhood,  Christian  society  pre- 
sents itself  before  us  as  a  simple  association  of  men  possess- 
ing the  same  faith  and  opinions,  the  same  sentiments  and 
feelings.  The  first  Christians  met  to  enjoy  together  their 
common  emotions,  their  common  religious  convictions.  At 
this  time  we  find  no  settled  form  of  doctrine,  no  settled  rules 
of  discipline,  no  body  of  magistrates. 

Still,  it  is  perfectly  obvious,  that  no  society,  however 
young,  however  feebly  held  together,  or  whatever  its  nature, 
can  exist  without  some  moral  power  which  animates  and 
guides  it;  and  thus,  in  the  various  Christian  congregations, 
there  were  men  who  preached,  who  taught,  who  morally 
governed  the  congregation.  Still  there  was  no  settled  magis- 
trate, no  discipline;  a  simple  association  of  believers  in  a 
common  faith,  with  common  sentiments  and  feelings,  was  the 
first  condition  of  Christian  society. 

But  the  moment  this  society  began  to  advance,  and  almost 
at  its  birth,  for  we  find  traces  of  them  in  its  earliest  docu- 
ments, there  gradually  became  moulded  a  form  of  doctrine, 
rules  of  discipline,  a  body  of  magistrates:  of  magistrates 
called  npeG[3vrepoc,  or  elders,  who  afterward  became  priests; 
of  eTTiGKOTTOL,  inspcctors  or  overseers,  who  became  bishops; 
and  of  didnovoi,  or  deacons,  whose  office  was  the  care  of  the 
poor  and  the  distribution  of  alms. 


3S  GENERAL    HISTORY    OF 

It  is  almost  impossible  to  determine  the  precise  functions 
of  these  magistrates;  the  line  of  demarcation  was  probably 
very  vague  and  wavering;  yet  here  was  the  embryo  of  insti- 
tutions. Still,  however,  there  was  one  prevailing  character 
in  this  second  epoch:  it  was  that  the  power,  the  authority, 
the  preponderating  influence,  still  remained  in  the  hands  of 
the  general  body  of  believers.  It  was  they  who  decided  in 
the  election  of  magistrates,  as  well  as  in  the  adoption  of  rules 
of  discipline  and  doctrine.  No  separation  had  as  yet  taken 
place  between  the  Christian  government  and  the  Christian 
people;  neither  as  yet  existed  apart  from,  or  independently 
of,  of  the  other,  and  it  was  still  the  great  body  of  Christian 
believers  who  exercised  the  principal  influence  in  the  society. 

In  the  third  period  all  this  was  entirely  changed.  The 
clergy  were  separated  from  the  people,  and  now  formed  a 
distinct  body,  with  its  own  wealth,  its  own  jurisdiction,  its 
own  constitution;  in  a  word,  it  had  its  own  government,  and 
formed  a  complete  society  of  itself — a  society,  too,  provided 
with  all  the  means  of  existence,  independently  of  the  society 
to  which  it  applied  itself,  and  over  which  it  extended  its  in- 
fluence. This  was  the  third  state  of  the  Christian  Church, 
and  in  this  state  it  existed  at  the  opening  of  the  fifth  cen- 
tury. The  government  was  not  yet  completely  separated 
from  the  people;  for  no  such  government  as  yet  existed,  and 
less  so  in  religious  matters  than  in  any  other;  but,  as  respects 
the  relation  between  the  clergy  and  Christians  in  general,  it 
was  the  clergy  who  governed,  and  governed  almost  without 
control. 

But,  besides  the  influence  which  the  clergy  derived  from 
their  spiritual  functions,  they  possessed  considerable  power 
over  society,  from  their  having  become  chief  magistrates  in 
the  city  corporations.  We  have  already  seen,  that,  strictly 
speaking,  nothing  had  descended  from  the  Roman  empire, 
except  its  municipal  system.  Now  it  had  fallen  out  that  by 
the  vexations  of  despotism,  and  the  ruin  of  the  cities,  the 
curiales,  or  officers  of  the  corporations,  had  sunk  into  insig- 
nificance and  inanity;  while  the  bishops  and  the  great  body 
of  the  clergy,  full  of  vigor  and  zeal,  were  naturally  prepared 
to  guide  and  watch  over  them.  It  is  not  fair  to  accuse  the 
clergy  of  usurpation  in  this  matter,  for  it  fell  out  according  to 
the  common  course  of  events:  the  clergy  alone  possessed 
moral  strength  and  activity,  and  the  clergy  everywhere  suc- 
ceeded to  power — such  is  the  common  law  of  the  universe. 


CIVILIZATION    IN    MODERN    EUROPE.  30 

The  change  which  had  taken  place  in  this  respect  shows 
itself  in  every  part  of  the  legislation  of  the  Roman  emperors 
at  this  period.  In  opening  the  Theodosian  and  Justinian 
codes,  we  find  innumerable  enactments,  which  place  the 
management  of  the  municipal  affairs  in  the  hands  of  the 
clergy  and  bishops.     I  shall  cite  a  few. 

Cod.  Just.,  L.  I.,  tit.  iv.,  De  Episcopali  atidientia,  §  26. — With  regard 
to  the  yearly  affairs  of  the  cities,  (whether  as  respects  the  ordinary  city 
revenues,  the  funds  arising  from  the  city  estates,  from  legacies  or  par- 
ticular gifts,  or  from  any  other  source  ;  whether  as  respects  the  manage- 
ment of  the  public  works,  of  the  magazines  of  provisions,  of  the  aque- 
ducts ;  of  the  maintenance  of  the  public  baths  and  the  city  gates,  of 
the  building  of  walls  or  towers,  the  repairing  of  bridges  and  roads,  or 
of  any  lawsuit  in  which  the  city  may  be  engaged  on  account  of  public 
or  private  interests,)  we  ordain  as  follows : — The  right  reverend  bishop, 
and  three  men  of  good  report,  from  among  the  chiefs  of  the  city,  shall 
assemble  together;  every  year  they  shall  examine  the  works  done;  they 
shall  take  care  that  those  who  conduct,  or  have  conducted  them,  meas- 
ure them  correctly,  give  a  true  account  of  them,  and  cause  it  to  be  seen 
that  they  have  fulfilled  their  contracts,  whether  in  the  care  of  the  public 
monuments,  in  the  moneys  expended  in  provisions  and  the  public 
baths,  of  all  that  is  expended  for  the  repairs  of  the  roads,  aqueducts, 
and  all  other  matters. 

Ibid.,  §  30. — With  respect  to  the  guardianship  of  youth,  of  the  first 
and  second  age,  and  of  all  those  to  whom  the  law  gives  cttrators,  if  their 
fortune  is  not  more  than  5000  aurei,  we  ordain  that  the  nomination  of 
the  president  of  the  province  should  not  be  waited  for,  on  account  of 
the  great  expense  it  would  occasion,  especially  if  the  president  should 
not  reside  in  the  city  in  which  it  becomes  necessary  to  provide  for  the 
guardianship.  The  nomination  of  the  curators  or  tutors  shall,  in  this 
case,  be  made  by  the  magistrate  of  the  city  ....  in  concert  with  the 
right  reverend  bishop  and  other  persons  invested  with  public  authority, 
if  more  than  one  should  reside  in  the  city. 

Ibid.,  L.  I.,  tit.  v.,  De  Defensoribus,  §  8. — We  desire  the  defenders  of 
cities,  well  instructed  in  the  holy  mysteries  of  the  orthodox  faith,  should 
be  chosen  and  instituted  into  their  office  by  the  reverend  bishops,  the 
clerks,  notables,  proprietors,  and  the  curiales.  With  regard  to  their 
installation,  it  must  be  committed  to  the  glorious  power  of  the  prefects 
of  the  prsetorium,  in  order  that  their  authority  should  have  all  the  sta- 
bility and  weight  which  the  letters  of  admission  granted  by  his  Magnifi- 
cence are  likely  to  give. 

I  could  cite  numerous  other  laws  to  the  same  effect,  and 
in  all  of  them  you  would  see  this  one  fact  very  strikingly 
prevail:  namely,  that  between  the  Roman  municipal  system, 
and  that  of  the  free  cities  of  the  middle  ages,  there  inter- 
vened an  ecclesiastical  municipal  system;  the  preponderance 
of  the  clergy  in  the  management  of  the  affairs  of  the  city 
corporations  succeeded  to  that  of  that  of  the  ancient  Roman 
municipal  magistrates,  and  paved  the  way  for  the  organiza- 
tion of  our  modern  free  communities. 


46  GENERAL    HISTORY    OF 

It  will  at  once  be  seen  what  an  amazing  accession  of 
power  the  Christian  Church  gained  by  these  means,  not  only 
in  its  own  peculiar  circle,  by  its  increased  influence  on  the 
body  of  Christians,  but  also  by  the  part  which  it  took  in 
temporal  matters.  And  it  is  from  this  period  we  should  date 
its  powerful  co-operation  in  the  advance  of  modern  civiliza- 
tion, and  the  extensive  influence  it  has  had  upon  its  charac- 
ter. Let  us  briefly  run  over  the  advantages  which  it  intro- 
duced into  it. 

And,  first,  it  was  of  immense  advantage  to  European 
civilization  that  a  moral  influence,  a  moral  power — a  power 
resting  entirely  upon  moral  convictions,  upon  moral  opinions 
and  sentiments — should  have  established  itself  in  society, 
just  at  this  period,  when  it  seemed  upon  the  point  of  being 
crushed  by  the  overwhelming  physical  force  which  had  taken 
possession  of  it.  Had  not  the  Christian  Church  at  this  time 
existed,  the  whole  world  must  have  fallen  a  prey  to  mere 
brute  force.  The  Christian  Church  alone  possessed  a  moral 
power,  it  maintained  and  promulgated  the  idea  of  a  precept, 
of  a  law  superior  to  all  human  authority;  it  proclaimed  that 
great  truth  which  forms  the  only  foundation  of  our  hope  for 
humanity:  namely,  that  there  exists  a  law  above  all  human 
law,  which,  by  whatever  name  it  may  be  called,  whether 
reason,  the  law  of  God,  or  what  not,  is,  in  all  times  and  in 
all  places,  the  same  law  under  different  names. 

Finally,  the  Church  commenced  an  undertaking  of  great 
importance  to  society — I  mean  the  separation  of  temporal 
and  spiritual  authority.  This  separation  is  the  only  true 
source  of  liberty  of  conscience;  it  was  based  upon  no  other 
principle  than  that  which  serves  as  the  groundwork  for  the 
strictest  and  most  extensive  liberty  of  conscience.  The 
separation  of  temporal  and  spiritual  power  rests  solely  upon 
the  idea  that  physical,  that  brute  force,  has  no  right  or  au- 
thority over  the  mind,  over  convictions,  over  truth.  It  flows 
from  the  distinction  established  between  the  world  of  thought 
and  the  world  of  action,  between  our  inward  and  intellectual 
nature  and  the  outward  world  around  us.  So  that,  however 
parodoxical  it  may  seem,  that  very  principle  of  liberty  of 
conscience  for  which  Europe  has  so  long  struggled,  so  much 
suffered,  which  has  only  so  lately  prevailed,  and  that,  in 
many  instances,  against  the  will  of  the  clergy — that  very  prin- 
ciple was  acted  upon  under  the  name  of  a  separation  of  the 
temporal  and  spiritual  power,  in  the  infancy  of  European 
civilization.  It  was,  moreover,  the  Christian  Church  itself, 
driven  to  assert  it  by  the  circumstances  in  which  it  was 


CIVILIZATION    IN    MODERN    EUROPE,  41 

placed,  as  a  means  of  defence  against  barbarism,  that  intro- 
duced and  maintained  it. 

The  establishment,  then,  of  a  moral  influence,  the  main- 
tenance of  this  divine  law,  and  the  separation  of  temporal 
and  spiritual  power,  may  be  enumerated  as  the  great  benefits 
which  the  Christian  Church  extended  to  European  society 
in  the  fifth  century. 

Unfortunately,  all  its  influences,  even  at  this  period,  were 
not  equally  beneficial.  Already,  even  before  the  close  of  the 
fifth  century,  we  discover  some  of  those  vicious  principles 
which  have  had  so  baneful  an  effect  on  the  advancement  of 
our  civilization.  There  already  prevailed  in  the  bosom  of  the 
Church  a  desire  to  separate  the  governing  and  the  governed. 
The  attempt  was  thus  early  made  to  render  the  government 
entirely  independent  of  the  people  under  its  authority — to 
take  possession  of  their  mind  and  life,  without  the  conviction 
of  their  reason  or  the  consent  of  their  will.  The  Church, 
moreover,  endeavored  with  all  her  might  to  establish  the 
principle  of  theocracy,  to  usurp  temporal  authority,  to  obtain 
universal  dominion.  And  when  she  failed  in  this,  when  she 
found  she  could  not  obtain  absolute  power  for  herself,  she 
did  what  was  almost  as  bad:  to  obtain  a  share  of  it,  she 
leagued  herself  with  temporal  rulers  and  enforced,  with  all 
her  might,  their  claim  to  absolute  power  at  the  expense  of 
the  liberty  of  the  subject. 

Such  then,  I  think,  were  the  principal  elements  of  civili- 
zation which  Europe  deprived,  in  the  fifth  century,  from  the 
Church  and  from  the  Roman  empire.  Such  was  the  state 
of  the  Roman  world  when  the  barbarians  came  to  make  it 
their  prey;  and  we  have  now  only  to  study  the  barbarians 
themselves,  in  order  to  be  acquainted  with  the  elements 
which  were  united  and  mixed  together  in  the  cradle  of  our 
civilization. 

It  mast  be  here  understood  that  we  have  nothing  to  do 
with  the  history  of  the  barbarians.  It  is  enough  for  our 
purpose  to  know,  that  with  the  exception  of  a  few  Slavonian 
tribes,  such  as  the  Alans,  they  were  all  of  the  same  German 
origin:  and  that  they  were  all  in  pretty  nearly  the  same  state 
of  civilization.  It  is  true  that  some  little  difference  might 
exist  in  this  respect,  accordingly  as  these  nations  had  more 
or  less  intercourse  with  the  Roman  world:  and  there  is  no 


42  GENERAL    HISTORY    OF 

doubt  but  the  Goths  had  made  a  greater  progress,  and  had 
become  more  refined  than  the  Franks;  but  in  a  general  point 
of  view,  and  with  regard  to  the  matter  before  us,  these  httle 
differences  are  of  no  consequence  whatever. 

A  general  notion  of  the  state  of  society  among  the  bar- 
barians, such,  at  least,  as  will  enable  us  to  judge  of  what 
they  have  contributed  toward  modern  civilization,  is  all  that 
we  require.  This  information,  small  as  it  may  appear,  it  is 
now  almost  impossible  to  obtain.  Respecting  the  municipal 
system  of  the  Romans  and  the  state  of  the  Church  we  may 
form  a  tolerably  accurate  idea.  Their  influence  has  lasted 
to  the  present  times;  we  have  vestiges  of  them  in  many  of 
our  institutions,  and  possess  a  thousand  means  of  becoming 
acquainated  with  them;  but  the  manners  and  social  state  of 
the  barbarians  have  completely  perished,  and  we  are  driven 
to  conjecture  what  they  were,  either  from  a  very  few  ancient 
historical  remains,  or  by  an  effort  of  the  imagination. 

There  is  one  sentiment,  one  in  particular,  which  it  is 
neccessary  to  understand  before  we  can  form  a  true  picture 
of  a  barbarian;  it  is  the  pleasure  of  personal  independence 
— the  pleasure  of  enjoying,  in  full  force  and  liberty,  all  his 
powers  in  the  various  ups  and  downs  of  fortune;  the  fond- 
ness for  activity  without  labor;  for  a  life  of  enterprise  and 
adventure.  Such  was  the  prevailing  character  and  disposi- 
tion of  the  barbarians;  such  were  the  moral  wants  which 
put  these  immense  masses  of  men  into  motion.  It  is  ex- 
tremely difficult  for  us,  in  the  regulated  society  in  which  we 
move,  to  form  anything  like  a  correct  idea  of  this  feeling, 
and  of  the  influence  which  it  exercised  upon  the  rude  bar- 
barians of  the  fourth  and  fifth  centuries.  There  is,  however, 
a  history  of  the  Norman  conquest  of  England,  written  by 
M.  Thierry,  in  which  the  character  and  disposition  of  the 
barbarian  are  depicted  with  much  life  and  vigor.  In  this 
admirable  work,  the  motives,  the  inclinations  and  impulses 
that  stir  men  into  action  in  a  state  of  life  bordering  on  the 
savage,  have  been  felt  and  described  in  a  truly  masterly 
manner.  There  is  nowhere  else  to  be  found  so  correct  a 
likeness  of  what  a  barbarian  was,  or  of  his  course  of  life. 
Something  of  the  same  kind,  but,  in  my  opinion,  much  in- 
ferior, is  found  in  the  novels  of  Mr.  Cooper,  in  which  he 
depicts  the  manners  of  the  savages  of  America.  In  these 
scenes,  in  the  sentiments  and  social  relations  which  these 
savages  hold  in  the  midst  of  their  forests,  there  is  unques- 
tionably something  which,  to  a  certain  point,  calls  up  before 


CIVILIZATION    IN    MODERN    EUROPE.  43 

US  the  manners  ot  the  ancient  Germans.  No  doubt  these 
pictures  are  a  little  imaginative,  a  little  poetical;  the  worst 
features  in  the  life  and  manners  of  the  barbarians  are  not 
given  in  all  their  naked  coarseness.  I  allude  not  merely  to 
the  evils  which  these  manners  forced  into  the  social  condi- 
tion, but  to  the  inward  individual  condition  of  the  barbarian 
himself.  There  is  in  this  passionate  desire  for  personal 
independence  something  of  a  grosser,  more  material  charac- 
ter than  we  should  suppose  from  the  work  of  M.  Thierry;  a 
degree  of  brutality,  of  headstrong  passion,  of  apathy,  which 
we  do  not  discover  in  his  details.  Still,  notwithstanding 
this  alloy  of  brutal  and  stupid  selfishness,  there  is,  if  we 
look  more  profoundly  into  the  matter,  something  of  a  noble 
and  moral  character,  in  this  taste  for  independence,  which 
seems  to  derive  its  power  from  our  moral  nature.  It  is  the 
pleasure  of  feeling  one's  self  a  man;  the  sentiment  of  per- 
sonality; of  human  spontaneity  in  its  unrestricted  develop- 
ment. 

It  was  the  rude  barbarians  of  Germany  who  introduced 
this  sentiment  of  personal  independence,  this  love  of  indi- 
vidual liberty,  into  European  civilization;  it  was  unknown 
among  the  Romans,  it  was  unknown  in  the  Christian  Church, 
it  was  unknown  in  nearly  all  the  civilizations  of  antiquity. 
The  liberty  which  we  meet  with  in  ancient  civilizations  is 
political  liberty;  it  is  the  liberty  of  the  citizen.  It  was  not 
about  his  personal  liberty  that  man  troubled  himself,  it  was 
about  his  liberty  as  a  citizen.  He  formed  part  of  an  asso- 
ciation, and  to  this  alone  he  was  devoted.  .The  case  was  the 
same  in  the  Christian  Church.  Among  its  members  a  devoted 
attachment  to  the  Christian  body,  a  devotedness  to  its  laws, 
and  an  earnest  zeal  for  the  extension  of  its  empire,  were 
everywhere  conspicuous;  the  spirit  of  Christianity  wrought  a 
change  in  the  moral  character  of  man,  opposed  to  this  prin- 
ciple of  independence;  for  under  its  influence  his  mind 
struggled  to  extinguish  its  own  liberty,  and  to  deliver  itself  up 
entirely  to  the  dictates  of  his  faith.  But  the  feeling  of  per- 
sonal independence,  a  fondness  for  genuine  liberty  display- 
ing itself  without  regard  to  consequences,  and  with  scarcely 
any  other  aim  than  its  own  satisfaction — this  feeling,  I 
repeat,  was  unknown  to  the  Romans  and  to  the  Christians. 
We  are  indebted  for  it  to  the  barbarians,  who  introduced  it 
into  European  civilization,  in  which,  from  its  first  rise,  if  has 
played  so  considerable  a  part,  and  has  produced  such  lasting 
and  beneficial  results,  that  it  must  be  regarded  as  one  of  its  fun- 
damental principles,  and  could  not  be  passed  without  notice. 


44  GENERAL    HISTORY    OF 

There  is  another,  a  second  element  of  civiUzation,  which 
we  Hkewise  inherit  from  the  barbarians  alone:  I  mean  military 
patronage,  the  tie  which  became  formed  between  individuals, 
between  warriors,  and  which,  without  destroying  the  liberty 
of  any,  without  even  destroying  in  the  commencement  the 
equality  up  to  a  certain  point  which  existed  between  them, 
laid  the  foundation  of  a  graduated  subordination,  and  was 
the  origin  of  that  aristocratical  organization  which,  at  a  later 
period,  grew  into  the  feudal  system.  The  germ  of  this  con- 
nexion was  the  attachment  of  man  to  man;  the  fidelity  which 
united  individuals,  without  apparent  necessity,  without  any 
obligation  arising  from  the  general  principles  of  society.  In 
none  of  the  ancient  republics  do  you  see  any  example  of  in- 
dividuals particularly  and  freely  attached  to  other  individuals. 
They  were  all  attached  to  the  city.  Among  the  barbarians 
this  tie  was  formed  between  man  and  man;  first  by  the  re- 
lationship of  companion  and  chief,  when  they  came  in  bands 
to  overrun  Europe;  and  at  a  later  period,  by  the  relationship 
of  sovereign  and  vassal.  This  second  principle,  which  has 
had  so  vast  an  influence  in  the  civilization  of  modern  Eur- 
ope— this  devotedness  of  man  to  man — came  to  us  entirely 
from  our  German  ancestors;  it  formed  part  of  their  social 
system,  and  was  adopted  into  ours. 

Let  me  ask  if  I  was  not  fully  justified  in  stating,  as  I  did 
at  the  outset,  that  modern  civilization,  even  in  its  infancy, 
was  diversified,  agitated,  and  confused?  Is  it  not  true  that 
we  find  at  the  fall  of  the  Roman  empire  nearly  all  the  ele- 
ments which  are  met  with  in  the  progressive  career  of  our 
civilization?  We  have  found  at  this  epoch  three  societies  all 
different;  first,  municipal  society,  the  last  remains  of  the 
Roman  empire;  secondly.  Christian  society;  and  lastly,  bar- 
barian society.  We  find  these  societies  very  differently 
organized;  founded  upon  principles  totally  opposite;  inspir- 
ing men  with  sentiments  altogether  different.  We  find  the 
love  of  the  most  absolute  independence  by  the  side  of  the 
devoted  submission;  military  patronage  by  the  side  of  eccle- 
siastical domination;  spiritual  power  and  temporal  power 
everywhere  together;  the  canons  of  the  Church,  the  learned 
legislation  of  the  Romans,  the  almost  unwritten  customs  of 
the  barbarians;  everywhere  a  mixture  or  rather  co-existence 
of  nations,  of  languages,  of  social  situations,  of  manners,  of 
ideas,  of  impressions,  the  most  diversified.  These,  I  think, 
afford  a  sufficient  proof  of  the  truth  of  the  general  character 
which  I  have  endeavored  to  picture  of  our  civilization. 


CIVILIZATION    IN    MODERN    EUROPE.  45 

There  is  no  denying  that  we  owe  to  this  confusion,  this 
diversity,  this  tossing  and  jostHng  of  elements,  the  slow 
progress  of  Europe,  the  storms  by  which  she  has  been 
bufteted,  the  miseries  to  which  ofttimes  she  has  been  a  prey. 
But,  however  dear  these  have  cost  us,  we  must  not  regard 
them  with  unmingled  regret.  In  nations,  as  well  as  in  indi- 
viduals, the  good  fortune  to  have  all  the  faculties  called  into 
action,  so  as  to  ensure  a  full  and  free  development  of  the 
various  powers  both  of  mind  and  body,  is  an  advantage  not 
too  dearly  paid  for  by  the  labor  and  pain  with  which  it  is 
attended.  What  we  might  call  the  hard  fortune  of  European 
civilization — the  trouble,  the  toil  it  has  undergone — the 
violence  it  has  suffered  in  its  course — have  been  of  infinitely 
more  service  to  the  progress  of  humanity  than  that  tranquil, 
smooth  simplicity,  in  which  other  civilizations  have  run  their 
course.  1  shall  now  halt.  In  the  rude  sketch  which  I  have 
drawn,  I  trust  you  will  recognize  the  general  features  of  the 
world  such  as  it  appeared  upon  the  fall  of  the  Roman  empire, 
as  well  as  the  various  elements  which  conspired  and  mingled 
together  to  give  birth  to  European  civilization.  Hence- 
forward these  will  move  and  act  under  our  notice.  We  shall 
next  put  these  in  motion,  and  see  how  they  work  together. 
In  the  next  lecture  I  shall  endeavor  to  show  what  they  be- 
came and  what  they  performed  in  the  epoch  which  is  called 
the  Barbarous  Period;  that  is  to  say,  the  period  during  which 
the  chaos  of  invasion  continued. 


LECTURE  III. 

OF      POLITICAL      LEGITIMACY — CO-EXISTENCE      OF      ALL      THE 

SYSTEMS     OF     GOVERNMENT     IN     THE     FIFTH     CENTURY 

ATTEMPTS    TO    REORGANIZE    SOCIETY. 

In  my  last  lecture,  I  brought  you  to  what  may  be  called 
the  porch  to  the  history  of  modern  civilization.  I  briefly 
placed  before  you  the  primary  elements  of  European  civili- 
zation, as  found  when,  at  the  dissolution  of  the  Roman  em- 
pire, it  was  yet  in  its  cradle.  I  endeavored  to  give  you  a 
preliminary  sketch  of  their  diversity,  their  continual  strug- 
gles with  each  other,  and  to  show  you  that  no  one  of  them 
succeeded  in  obtaining  the  mastery  in  our  social  system;  at 
least  such  a  mastery  as  would  imply  the  complete  subjuga- 
tion or  expulsion  of  the  others.  We  have  seen  that  these 
circumstances  form  the  distinguishing  character  of  European 
civilization.  We  will  to-day  begin  the  history  of  its  child- 
hood in  what  is  commonly  called  the  dark  or  middle  age, 
the  age  of  barbarism. 

It  is  impossbile  for  us  not  to  be  struck,  at  the  first  glance 
at  this  period,  with  a  fact  which  seems  quite  contradictory 
to  the  statement  we  have  just  made.  No  sooner  do  we  seek 
for  information  respecting  the  opinions  that  have  been 
formed  relative  to  the  ancieat  condition  of  modern  Europe, 
than  we  find  that  the  various  elements  of  our  civilization, 
that  is  to  say,  monarchy,  theocracy,  aristocracy,  and  democ- 
racy, each  would  have  us  believe  that  originally,  European 
society  belonged  to  it  alone,  and  that  it  has  only  lost  the 
power  it  then  possessed  by  the  usurpation  of  the  other  ele- 
ments. Examine  all  that  has  been  written,  all  that  has  been 
said  on  this  subject,  and  you  will  find  that  every  author  who 
has  attempted  to  build  up  a  system  which  should  represent 
or  explain  our  origin,  has  asserted  the  exclusive  predomin- 
ance of  one  or  other  of  these  elements  of  European  civiliza- 
tion. 

First,  there  is  the  school  of  civilians,  attrxhed  to  the 
feudal  system,  among  whom  we  may  mention  Boulainvilliers 
as   the    most   celebrated,  who   boldly   asserts,   that,   at   the 


CIVILIZATION    IN    MODERN    EUROPE.  47 

downfall  of  the  Roman  empire,  it  was  the  conquering  nation, 
forming  afterward  the  nobility,  who  alone  possessed  authority, 
or  right,  or  power.  Society,  it  is  said,  was  their  domain,  of 
which  kings  and  people  have  since  despoiled  them;  and 
hence,  the  aristocratic  organization  is  affirmed  to  have  been 
in  Europe  the  primitive  and  genuine  form. 

Next  to  this  school  we  may  place  the  advocates  of  mon- 
archy, the  Abbe  Dubois,  for  example,  who  maintains,  on  the 
other  side,  that  it  was  to  royalty  that  European  society  be- 
longed. According  to  him,  the  German  kings  succeeded  to 
all  the  rights  of  the  Roman  emperors;  they  were  even  invited 
in  by  the  ancient  nations,  among  others  by  the  Gauls  and 
Saxons;  they  alone  possessed  legitimate  authority,  and  all 
the  conquests  of  the  aristocracy  were  only  so  many  encroach- 
ments upon  the  power  of  the  monarchs. 
*  The  liberals,  republicans,  or  democrats,  whichever  you 
may  choose  to  call  them,  form  a  third  school.  Consult  the 
Abbe  de  Mably.  According  to  this  school,  the  government 
by  which  society  was  ruled  in  the  fifth  century,  was  composed 
of  free  institutions;  of  assemblies  of  freedom,  of  the  nation 
properly  so  called.  Kings  and  nobles  enriched  themselves 
by  the  spoils  of  this  primitive  Liberty;  it  has  fallen  under 
their  repeated  atacks,  but  it  reigned  before  them. 

Another  power,  however,  claimed  the  right  of  governing 
society,  and  upon  much  higher  grounds  than  any  of  these. 
Monarchical,  aristocratic,  and  popular  pretensions  were  all  of 
a  worldly  nature:  the  Church  of  Rome  founded  her  preten- 
sions upon  her  sacred  mission  and  divine  right.  By  her  labors, 
Europe,  she  said,  had  attained  the  blessings  of  civilization 
and  truth,  and  to  her  alone  belonged  the  right  to  govern  it. 

Here  then  is  a  difficulty  which  meets  us  at  the  very  out- 
set. We  have  stated  our  belief  that  no  one  of  the  elements 
of  European  civilization  obtained  an  exclusive  mastery  over 
it,  in  the  whole  course  of  its  history,  that  they  lived  in  a 
constant  state  of  proximity,  of  amalgamation,  of  strife,  and 
of  compromise;  yet  here,  at  our  very  first  step,  we  are  met 
by  the  directly  opposite  opinion,  that  one  or  the  other  of 
these  elements,  even  in  the  very  infancy  of  civilization,  even 
in  the  very  heart  of  barbarian  Europe,  took  entire  possession 
of  society.  And  it  is  not  in  one  country  alone,  it  is  in  every 
nation  of  Europe,  that  the  various  principles  of  our  civiliza- 
tion, under  forms  a  little  varied,  at  epochs  a  little  apart,  have 
displayed  these  irreconcilable  pretensions.  The  historic 
schools  which  I  have  enumerated  are  met  with  everywhere. 


48  GENERAL    HISTORY    OF 

This  fact  is  important,  not  in  itself,  but  because  it  reveals 
some  other  facts  which  make  a  great  figure  in  our  history. 
By  this  simultaneous  advancement  of  claims  ^  the  most 
opposed  t^  the  exclusive  possession  of  power,  in  the  first 
stage  of  modern  Europe,  two  important  facts  are  revealed: 
first,  the  principle,  the  idea  of  political  legitimacy;  an  idea 
which  has  played  a  considerable  part  in  the  progress  of 
European  civilization.  The  second  is  the  particular,  the 
true  character  of  the  state  of  barbarian  Europe  during  that 
period,  which  now  more  expressly  demands  attention. 

It  is  my  task,  then,  to  explain  these  two  facts;  and  to 
show  you  how  they  may  be  fairly  deduced  from  the  early 
struggle  of  the  pretensions  which  I  have  just  called  to  your 
notice. 

Now  what  do  these  various  elements  of  our  civilization — 
what  do  theocracy,  monarchy,  aristocracy,  and  democracy 
aim  at,  when  they  each  endeavor  to  make  out  that  it  alone 
was  the  first  which  held  possession  of  European  society?  Is 
it  anything  beyond  the  desire  of  each  to  establish  its  sole 
claim  to  legitimacy?  For  what  is  poHtical  legitimacy?  Evi- 
dently nothing  more  than  a  right  founded  upon  antiquity, 
upon  duration,  which  is  obvious  from  the  simple  fact,  that 
priority  of  time  is  pleaded  as  the  source  of  right,  as  proof  of 
legitimate  power.  But,  observe  again,  this  claim  is  not 
peculiar  to  one  system,  to  one  element  of  our  civilization, 
but  is  made  alike  by  all.  The  political  writers  of  the  Con- 
tinent have  been  in  the  habit,  for  some  time  past,  of  regard- 
ing legitimacy  as  belonging,  exclusively,  to  the  monarchical 
system.  This  is  an  error;  legitimacy  may  be  found  in  all  the 
systems.  It  has  already  been  shown  that,  of  the  various 
elements  of  our  civilization,  each  wished  to  approprilte  it  to 
itself.  But  advance  a  few  steps  further  into  the  history  of 
Europe,  and  you  will  see  social  forms  of  government,  the 
most  opposed  in  principles,  alike  in  possession  of  this  legiti- 
macy. The  Italian  and  Swiss  aristocracies  and  democracies, 
the  little  republic  of  San  Marino,  as  well  as  the  most  powerful 
monarchies,  have  considered  themselves  legitimate,  and  have 
been  acknowledged  as  such;  all  founding  their  claim  to  this 
title  upon  the  antiquity  of  their  institutions;  upon  the  his- 
torical priority  and  duration  of  their  particular  system  of 
government. 

If  we  leave  modern  Europe,  and  turn  our  attention  to 
other  times  and  to  other  countries,  we  shall  everywhere  find 


CIVILIZATION    IN    MODERN    EUROPE.  49 

this  same  notion  prevail  respecting  political  legitimacy.  It 
everywhere  attaches  itself  to  some  portion  of  government;  to 
some  institution;  to  some  form,  or  to  some  maxim.  There 
is  no  country,  no  time,  in  which  you  may  not  discover  some 
portion  of  the  social  system,  some  public  authority,  that  has 
assumed,  and  been  acknowledged  to  possess,  this  character 
of  legitimacy,  arising  from  antiquity,  prescription,  and  dura- 
tion. 

Let  us  for  a  moment  see  what  this  legitimacy  is?  of  what 
it  is  composed?  what  it  requires?  and  how  it  found  its  way 
into  European  civilization? 

You  will  find  that  all  power — I  say  all,  without  distinction 
— owes  its  existence  in  the  first  place  partly  to  force.  I  do 
not  say  that  force  alone  has  been,  in  all  cases,  the  foundation 
of  power,  or  that  this,  without  any  other  title,  could  in  every 
case  have  been  established  by  force  alone.  Other  claims 
undoubtedly  are  requisite.  Certain  powers  become  estab- 
lished in  consequence  of  certain  social  expediencies,  of  cer- 
tain relations  with  the  state  of  society,  with  its  customs  or 
opinions.  But  it  is  impossible  to  close  our  eyes  to  the  fact, 
that  violence  has  sullied  the  birth  of  all  the  authorities  in  the 
world,  whatever  may  have  been  their  nature  or  their  form. 

This  origin,  however,  no  one  will  acknowledge.  All 
authorities,  whatever  their  nature,  disclaim  it.  None  of 
them  will  allow  themselves  to  be  considered  as  the  offspring 
of  force.  Governments  are  warned  by  an  invincible  instinct 
that  force  is  no  title — that  might  is  not  right— and  that, 
while  they  rest  upon  no  other  foundation  than  violence,  they 
are  entirely  destitute  of  right.  Hence,  if  we  go  back  to  some 
distant  period,  in  which  the  various  systems,  the  various 
powers,  are  found  struggling  one  against  the  other,  we  shall 
hear  them  each  exclaiming,  "  I  existed  before  you;  my  claim 
is  the  oldest;  my  claim  rests  upon  other  grounds  than  force; 
society  belonged  to  me  before  this  state  of  violence,  before 
this  strife  in  which  you  now  find  me.  I  was  legitimate;  I 
have  been  opposed,  and  my  rights  have  been  torn  from  me." 

This  fact  alone  proves  that  the  idea  of  violence  is  not 
the  foundation  of  political  legitimacy — that  it  rests  upon 
some  other  basis.  This  disavowal  of  violence  made  by  every 
system,  proclaims,  as  plainly  as  facts  can  speak,  that  there  is 
another  legitimacy,  the  true  foundation  of  all  the  others,  the 
legitimacy  of  reason,  of  justice,  of  right.  It  is  to  this  origin 
that  they  seek  to  link  themselves.  As  they  feel  scandalized 
at  the  very  idea  of  being  the  offspring  of  force,  they  pretend 


50  GENERAL    HISTORY    OF 

to  be  invested,  by  virtue  of  their  antiquity,  with  a  different 
title.  The  first  characteristic,  then,  of  political  legitimacy, 
is  to  disclaim  violence  as  the  source  of  authority,  and  to 
associate  it  with  a  moral  notion,  a  moral  force — with  the 
notion  of  justice,  of  right,  of  reason.  This  is  the  primary 
element  from  which  the  principle  of  political  legitimacy  has 
sprung  forth.  It  has  issued  from  it,  aided  by  time,  aided  by 
prescription.     Let  us  see  how. 

Violence  presides  at  the  birth  of  governments,  at  the 
birth  of  societies;  but  time  rolls  on.  He  changes  the  works 
of  violence.  He  corrects  them.  He  corrects  them,  simply 
because  society  endures,  and  because  it  is  composed  of  men. 
Man  bears  within  himself  certain  notions  of  order,  of  justice, 
of  reason,  with  a  certain  desire  to  bring  them  into  play — he 
wishes  to  see  them  predominate  in  the  sphere  in  which  he 
moyes.  For  this  he  labors  unceasingly;  and  if  the  social 
system  in  which  he  lives,  continues,  his  labor  is  not  in  vain. 
Man  naturally  brings  reason,  morality,  and  legitimacy  into 
the  world  in  which  he  lives. 

Independently  of  the  labor  of  man,  by  a  special  law  of 
Providence  which  it  is  impossible  to  mistake,  a  law  analogous 
to  that  which  rules  the  material  world,  there  is  a  certain 
degree  of  order,  of  intelligence,  of  justice,  indispensable  to 
the  duration  of  human  society.  "From  the  simple  fact  of  its 
duration  we  may  argue,  that  a  society  is  not  completely 
irrational,  savage,  or  iniquitous;  that  it  is  not  altogether  des- 
titute of  intelligence,  truth,  and  justice,  for  without  these, 
society  cannot  hold  together.  Again,  as  society  develops 
itself,  it  becomes  stronger,  more  powerful;  if  the  social  sys- 
tem is  continually  augmented  by  the  increase  of  individuals 
who  accept  and  approve  its  regulations,  it  is  because  the 
action  of  time  gradually  introduces  into  it  more  right,  more 
intelligence,  more  justice;  it  is  because  a  gradual  approxi- 
mation is  made  in  its  affairs  to  the  pinciples  of  true 
legitimacy. 

Thus  forces  itself  into  the  world,  and  from  the  world  into 
the  mind  of  man,  the  notion  of  political  legitimacy.  Its 
foundation  in  the  first  place,  at  least  to  a  certain  extent,  is 
moral  legitimacy — is  justice,  intelligence,  and  truth;  it  next 
obtains  the  sanction  of  time,  which  gives  reason  to  believe 
that  affairs  are  conducted  by  reason,  that  the  true  legitimacy 
has  been  introduced.  At  the  epoch  which  we  are  about  to 
study,  you  will  find  violence  and  fraud  hovering  over  the 
cradle  of  monarchy,  aristocracy,  democracy,  and  even  over 


CIVILIZATION    IN    MODERN    EUROPE.  5I 

the  Church  itself;  you  will  see  this  violence  and  fraud  every- 
where gradually  abated;  and  justice  and  truth  taking  their 
place  in  civilization.  It  is  this  introduction  of  justice  and 
truth  into  our  social  system,  that  has  nourished  and  gradu- 
ally matured  political  legitimacy;  and  it  is  thus  that  it  has 
taken  firm  root  in  modern  civilization. 

All  those  then  who  have  attempted  at  various  times  to 
set  up  this  idea  of  legitimacy  as  the  foundation  of  absolute 
power,  have  wrested  it  from  its  true  origin.  It  has  nothing 
to  do  with  absolute  power.  It  is  under  the  name  of  justice 
and  righteousness  that  it  has  made  its  way  into  the  world 
and  found  footing.  Neither  is  it  exclusive.  It  belongs  to 
no  party  in  partciular;  it  springs  up  in  all  systems  where 
truth  and  justice  prevail.  Political  legitimacy  is  as  much 
attached  to  liberty  as  to  power;  to  the  rights  of  individuals 
as  to  the  forms  under  which  are  exercised  the  public  func- 
tions. As  we  go  on  we  shall  find  it,  as  I  said  before,  in 
systems  the  most  opposed;  in  the  feudal  system;  in  the  free 
cities  of  Flanders  and  Germany;  in  the  republics  of  Italy,  as 
well  as  in  monarchy.  It  is  a  quality  which  appertains  to  all  the 
divers  elements  of  our  civilization,  and  which  it  is  necessary 
should  be  well  understood  before  entering  upon  its  history. 

The  second  fact  revealed  to  us  by  that  simultaneous 
advancement  of  claims,  of  which  I  spoke  at  the  beginning  of 
this  lecture,  is  the  true  character  of  what  is  called  the  period 
of  barbarism.  Each  of  the  elements  of  European  civilization 
pretends,  that  at  this  epoch  Europe  belonged  to  it  alone; 
hence  we  may  conclude  that  it  really  belonged  to  no  one  of 
them.  When  any  particular  kind  of  government  prevails  in 
the  world,  there  is  no  difficulty  in  recognizing  it.  When  we 
come  to  the  tenth  century,  we  acknowledge,  without  hesita- 
tion, the  preponderance  of  feudalism.  At  the  seventeenth 
we  have  no  hesitation  in  asserting,  that  the  monarchical 
principle  prevails.  *  If  we  turn  our  eyes  to  the  free  com- 
munities of  Flanders,  to  the  republics  of  Italy,  we  confess 
at  once  the  predominance  of  democracy.  Whenever,  in- 
deed, any  one  principle  really  bears  sway  in  society,  it  cannot 
be  mistaken. 

The  dispute,  then,  that  has  risen  among  the  various  sys- 
tems which  hold  a  part  in  European  civilization,  respectin.^- 
which  bore  chief  sway  at  is  origin,  proves  that  they  all 
existed  there  together,  without  any  one  of  them  having  pre- 
vailed so  generally  as  to  give  society  its  form  or  jts  nanie. 


52  GENERAL    HISTORY    OF 

This  is,  indeed,  the  character  of  the  dark  age:  it  was  a 
chaos  of  all  the  elements;  the  childhood  of  all  the  systems; 
a  universal  jumble,  in  which  even  strife  itself  was  neither 
permanent  nor  systematic.  By  an  examination  of  the  social 
system  of  this  period  under  its  various  forms,  I  could  show 
you  that  in  no  part  of  them  is  there  to  be  found  anything 
like  a  general  principle,  anything  like  stability.  I  shall, 
however,  confine  myself  to  two  essential  particulars — the 
state  of  persons,  the  state  of  institutions.  This  will  be  suffi- 
cient to  give  a  general  picture  of  society. 

We  find  at  this  time  four  classes  of  persons:  ist,  Free- 
men, that  is  to  say,  men  who,  depending  upon  no  superior, 
upon  no  patron,  held  their  property  and  life  in  full  liberty, 
without  being  fettered  by  any  obligation  toward  another  in- 
dividual; 2d,  The  Luedes,  Fideles,  Antrustions,  etc.,  who 
were  connected  at  first  by  the  relationship  of  companion  and 
chief,  and  afterward  by  that  of  vassal  and  lord,  toward  an- 
other individual  to  whom  they  owed  fealty  and  service,  in 
consequence  of  a  grant  of  lands,  or  some  other  gifts;  3d, 
Freedmen;  4th,  Slaves. 

But  were  these  various  classes  fixed?  Were  men  once 
placed  in  a  certain  rank  bound  to  it?  Were  the  relations,  in 
which  the  different  classes  stood  toward  each  other,  regular 
or  permanent?  Not  at  all.  Freemen  were  continually  chang- 
ing their  condition,  and  becoming  vassals  to  nobles,  in  con- 
sideration of  some  gift  which  these  might  have  to  bestow; 
while  others  were  falling  into  the  class  of  slaves  or  serfs. 
Vassals  were  continually  struggling  to  shake  off  the  yoke  of 
patronage,  to  regain  their  independence,  to  return  to  the 
class  of  freemen.  Ever)^  part  of  society  was  in  motion. 
There  was  a  continual  passing  and  repassing  from  one  class 
to  the  other.  No  man  continued  long  in  the  same  rank;  no 
rank  continued  long  the  same. 

Property  was  in  much  the  same  state.  I  need  scarcely 
tell  you,  that  possessions  were  distinguished  into  allodial,  or 
entirely  free,  and  beneficiary,  or  such  as  were  held  by  tenure, 
with  certain  obligations  to  be  discharged  toward  a  superior. 
Some  writers  attempt  to  trace  out  a  regular  and  established 
system  with  respect  to  the  latter  class  of  proprietors,  and  lay 
it  down  as  a  rule  that  benefices  were  at  first  bestowed  for  a 
determinate  number  of  years;  that  they  were  afterward 
granted  for  life;  and  finally,  at  a  later  period,  became 
hereditary.     The  attempt  is  vain.     Lands  were  held  in  all 


CIVILIZATION    IISI    MODERN    EUROPE.  53 

these,  various  ways  at  the  same  time,  and  in  the  same  places. 
Benefices  for  a  term  of  years,  benefices  for  life,  hereditary 
benefices,  are  found  in  the  same  period;  even  the  same  lands, 
within  a  few  years,  passed  through  these  different  states. 
There  was  nothing  more  settled,  nothing  more  general,  in 
the  state  of  lands  than  in  the  state  of  persons.  Everything 
shows  the  difficulties  of  the  transition  from  the  wandering 
life  to  the  settled  life;  from  the  simple  personal  relations 
which  existed  among  the  barbarians  as  invading  migratory 
hordes,  to  the  mixed  relations  of  persons  and  property.  Dur- 
ing this  transition  all  was  confused,  local,  and  disordered. 

In  institutions  we  observe  the  same  unfixedness,  the 
same  chaos.  We  find  here  three  different  systems  at  once 
before  us: — ist.  Monarchy;  2d,  Aristocracy,  or  the  pro- 
prietorship of  men  and  lands,  as  lord  and  vassal;  and,  3dly, 
Free  institutions,  or  assemblies  of  free  men  deliberating  in 
common.  No  one  of  these  systems  entirely  prevailed.  Free 
institutions  existed;  but  the  men  who  should  have  formed 
part  of  these  assemblies  seldom  troubled  themselves  to  at- 
tend them.  Baronial  jurisdiction  was  not  more  regularly 
exercised.  Monarchy,  the  most  simple  institution,  the  most 
easy  to  determine,  here  had  no  fixed  character;  at  one  time 
it  was  elective,  at  another  hereditary — here  the  son  succeeded 
to  his  father,  there  the  election  was  confined  to  a  family;  in 
another  place  it  was  open  to  all,  purely  elective,  and  the 
choice  fell  on  a  distant  relation,  or  perhaps  a  stranger.  In 
none  of  these  systems  can  we  discover  anything  fixed;  all 
the  institutions,  as  well  as  the  social  conditions,  dwelt  to- 
gether, continually  confounded,  continually  changing. 

The  same  unsettledness  existed  with  regard  to  states; 
they  were  created,  suppressed,  united,  and  divided;  no  gov- 
ernments, no  frontiers,  no  nations;  a  general  jumble  of 
situations,  principles,  events,  races,  languages;  such  was 
barbarian  Europe. 

Let  us  now  fix  the  limits  of  this  extraordinary  period. 
Its  origin  is  strongly  defined;  it  began  with  the  fall  of  the 
Roman  empire.  But  where  did  it  close?  To  settle  this 
question,  we  must  find  out  the  cause  of  this  state  of  society; 
we  must  see  what  were  the  causes  of  barbarism. 

I  think  I  can  point  out  two: — one  material,  arising  from 
exterior  circumstances,  from  the  coarse  of  events;  the  other, 
moral,  arising  from  the  mind,  from  the  intellects  of  man. 


54  GENERAL    HISTORY    OF 

The  material,  or  outward  cause,  was  the  continuance  of 
invasion;  for  it  must  not  be  supposed  that  the  invasions  of 
the  barbarian  hordes  stopped  all  at  once,  in  the  fifth  century. 
Do  not  believe  that  because  the  Roman  empire  was  fallen, 
and  kingdoms  of  barbarians  founded  upon  its  ruins,  that  the 
movement  of  nations  was  over.  There  are  plenty  of  facts  to 
prove  that  this  was  not  the  case,  and  that  this  movement 
lasted  a  long  time  after  the  destruction  of  the  empire. 

If  w^e  look  to  the  Franks,  or  French,  we  shall  find  even 
the  first  race  of  kings  continually  carrying  on  wars  beyond 
the  Rhine.  We  see  Clotaire,  Dagobert,  making  expedition 
after  expedition  into  Germany,  and  engaged  in  a  constant 
struggle  with  the  Thuringians,  the  Danes,  and  the  Saxons 
who  occupied  the  right  bank  of  that  river.  And  why  was 
this  but  because  these  nations  wished  to  cross  the  Rhine  and 
get  a  share  in  the  spoils  of  the  empire?  How  came  it  to 
pass  that  the  Franks,  established  in  Gaul,  and  principally 
the  Eastern,  or  Austrasian  Franks,  much  about  the  same 
time,  threw  themselves  in  such  large  bodies  upon  Switzer- 
land, and  invaded  Italy  by  crossing  the  Alps?  It  was  because 
they  were  pushed  forward  by  new  populations  from  the 
north-east.  These  invasions  were  not  mere  pillaging  inroads, 
they  were  not  expeditions  undertaken  for  the  purpose  of 
plunder,  they  were  the  result  of  necessity.  The  people,  dis- 
turbed in  their  own  settlements,  pressed  forward  to  better 
their  fortune  and  find  new  abodes  elsewhere.  A  new  Ger- 
man nation  entered  upon  the  arena,  and  founded  the  power- 
ful kingdom  of  the  Lombards  in  Italy.  In  Gaul,  or  France, 
the  Merovinginian  dynasty  gave  way  to  the  Carlovingian;  a 
change  which  is  now  generally  acknowledged  to  have  been, 
properly  speaking,  a  new  irruption  of  Franks  into  Gaul — a 
movement  of  nations,  which  substituted  the  Eastern  Franks 
for  the  Western.  Under  the  second  race  of  kings,  we  find 
Charlemagne  playing  the  same  part  against  the  Saxons,  which 
the  Merovinginian  princes  played  against  the  Thuringians: 
he  carried  on  an  unceasing  war  against  the  nations  beyond 
the' Rhine,  who  were  precipitated  upon  the  west  by  the  Wilt- 
zians,  the  Swabians,  the  Bohemians,  and  the  various  tribes 
of  Slavonians,  who  trod  on  the  heels  of  the  German  race. 
Throughout  the  north-east  emigrations  were  going  on  and 
changing  the  face  of  affairs. 

In  the  south,  a  movement  of  the  same  nature  took  place. 
While  the  German  and  Slavonian  tribes  pressed  along  the 
Rhine  and  Danube,  the  Saracens  began  to  ravage  and  con- 
quer the  various  coasts  of  the  Mediterranean. 


CIVILIZATION    IN    MODERN    EUROPE.  55 

The  invasion  of  the  Saracens,  however,  had  a  character 
pecuHarly  its  own.  In  them  the  spirit  of  conquest  was 
united  with  the  spirit  of  proselytism;  the  sword  was  drawn 
as  well  for  the  promulgation  of  a  faith  as  the  acquisition  of 
territory.  There  is  a  vast  difference  between  their  invasion 
and  that  of  the  Germans.  In  the  Christian  world  spiritual 
force  and  temporal  force  were  quite  distinct.  The  zeal  for 
the  propagation  of  a  faith  and  the  lust  of  conquest  are  not 
inmates  of  the  same  bosom.  The  Germans,  after  their  con- 
version, preserved  the  same  manners,  the  same  sentiments, 
the  same  tastes,  as  before;  they  were  still  guided  by  passions 
and  interests  of  a  worldly  nature.  They  had  become  Chris- 
tians, but  not  missionaries.  The  Saracens,  on  the  contrary, 
were  both  conquerors  and  missionaries.  The  power  of  the 
Koran  and  of  the  sword  was  in  the  same  hands.  And  it  was 
this  peculiarity  which,  I  think,  gave  to  Mohammedan  civili- 
zation the  wretched  character  which  it  bears.  It  was  in  this 
union  of  the  temporal  and  spiritual  powers,  and  the  confusion 
which  it  created  between  moral  authority  and  physical  force, 
that  that  tyranny  was  born  which  seems  inherent  in  their 
civilization.  This  I  believe  to  be  the  principal  cause  of  that 
stationary  state  into  which  it  has  everywhere  fallen.  This 
effect,  however,  did  not  show  itself  upon  the  first  rise  of 
Mohammedanism;  the  union,  on  the  contrary,  of  military 
ardor  and  religious  zeal,  gave  to  the  Saracen  invasion  a  pro- 
digious power.  Its  ideas  and  moral  passions  had  at  once  a 
brilliancy  and  splendor  altogether  wanting  in  the  Germanic 
invasions;  it  displayed  itself  with  more  energy  and  enthu- 
siasm, and  had  a  correspondent  effect  upon  the  minds  and 
passions  of  men. 

Such  was  the  situation  of  Europe  from  the  fifth  to  the 
ninth  century.  Pressed  on  the  south  by  the  Mohammedans, 
and  on  the  north  by  the  Germans  and  Slavonians,  it  could 
not  be  otherwise  than  that  the  reaction  of  this  double  inva- 
sion should  keep  the  interior  of  Europe  in  a  state  of  continual 
ferment.  Populations  were  incessantly  displaced, "crowded 
one  upon  another;  there  was  no  regularity,  nothing  perma- 
nent or  fixed.  Some  differences  undoubtedly  prevailed 
between  the  various  nations.  The  chaos  was  more  general 
in  Germany  than  in  the  other  parts  of  Europe.  Here  was 
the  focus  of  movement.  France  was  more  agitated  than 
Italy.  But  nowhere  could  society  become  settled  and  regu- 
lated; barbarism  everywhere  continued,  and  from  the  same 
cause  that  introduced  it. 


56  GENERAL    HISTORY    OF 

Thus  much  for  the  material  cause  depending  upon  the 
course  of  events;  let  us  now  look  to  the  moral  cause,  founded 
on  the  intellectual  condition  of  man,  which,  it  must  be 
acknowledged,  was  not  less  powerful. 

For,  certainly,  after  all  is  said  and  done,  whatever  may 
be  the  course  of  external  affairs,  it  is  man  himself  who  makes 
our  world.  It  is  according  to  the  ideas,  the  sentiments,  the 
moral  and  intellectual  dispositions  of  man  himself,  that  the 
world  is  regulated,  and  marches  onward.  It  is  upon  the 
intellectual  state  of  man  that  the  visible  form  of  society 
depends. 

Now  let  us  consider  for  a  moment  what  is  required  to 
enable  men  to  form  themselves  into  a  society  somewhat 
durable,  somewhat  regular?  It  is  evidently  necessary,  in 
the  first  place,  that  they  should  have  a  certain  number  of 
ideas  sufficiently  enlarged  to  settle  upon  the  terms  by 
which  this  society  should  be  formed;  to  apply  themselves 
to  its  wants,  to  its  relations.  In  the  second  place,  it  is 
necessary  that  these  ideas  should  be  common  to  the  greater 
part  of  the  members  of  the  society;  and,  finally,  that  they 
should  put  some  constraint  upon  their  own  inclmations  and 
actions. 

It  is  clear  that  where  men  possess  no  ideas  extending 
beyond  their  own  existence,  where  their  intellectual  horizon 
is  bounded  in  self,  if  they  are  still  delivered  up  to  their  own 
passions,  and  their  own  wills — if  they  have  not  among  them 
a  certain  number  of  notions  and  sentiments  common  to  them 
all,  round  which  they  may  all  rally,  it  is  clear  that  they  can- 
not form  a  society:  without  this  each  individual  will  be  a 
principle  of  agitation  and  dissolution  in  the  social  system  of 
which  he  forms  a  part. 

Wherever  individualism  reigns  nearly  absolute,  wherever 
man  considers  but  himself,  wherever  his  ideas  extend  not 
beyond  himself,  wherever  he  only  yields  obedience  to  his 
own  passions,  there  society — that  is  to  say,  society  in  any 
degree  extended  or  permanent — becomes  almost  impossible. 
Now  this  was  just  the  moral  state  of  the  conquerors  of 
Europe  at  the  epoch  which  engages  our  attention.  I  re- 
marked, in  the  last  lecture,  that  we  owe  to  the  Germans  the 
powerful  sentiment  of  personal  liberty,  of  human  individual- 
ism. Now,  in  a  state  of  extreme  rudeness  and  ignorance, 
this  sentiment  is  mere  selfishness,  in  all  its  brutality,  with  all 
its  unsociability.  Such  was  its  character  from  the  fifth  to 
the  eighth  century,  among  the  Germans.  They  cared  for 
nothing  beyond  their  own   interest,  for  nothing  beyond  the 


CIVILIZATION    IN    MODERN    EUROPE.  57 

gratification  of  their  own  passions,  their  own  incHnations; 
how,  then,  could  they  accommodate  themselves,  in  any 
tolerable  degree,  to  the  social  condition?  The  attempt  was 
made  to  bring  them  into  it;  they  endeavored  of  themselves 
to  enter  into  it;  but  an  act  of  improvidence,  a  burst  of  pas- 
sion, a  lack  of  intelligence,  soon  threw  them  back  to  their 
old  position.  At  every  instant  we  see  attempts  made  to 
form  man  into  a  social  state,  and  at  every  instant  we  see 
them  overthrown  by  the  failings  of  man,  by  the  absence  of 
the  moral  conditions  necessary  to  its  existence. 

Such  were  the  two  causes  which  kept  our  forefathers  in  a 
state  of  barbarism;  so  long  as  these  continued,  so  long  bar- 
barism endured.  Let  us  see  if  we  can  discover  when  and 
from  what  causes  it  at  last  ceased. 

Europe  labored  to  emerge  from  this  state.  It  is  contrary 
to  the  nature  of  man,  even  when  sunk  into  it  by  his  own 
fault,  to  wish  to  remain  in  it.  However  rude,  however 
ignorant,  however  selfish,  however  headstrong,  there  is  yet 
in  him  a  still  small  voice,  an  instinct,  which  tells  him  he  was 
made  for  something  better; — that  he  has  another  and  higher 
destiny.  In  the  midst  of  confusion  and  disorder,  he  is 
haunted  and  tormented  by  a  taste  for  order  and  improve- 
ment. The  claims  of  justice,  of  prudence,  of  development, 
disturb  him,  even  under  the  yoke  of  the  most  brutish  ego- 
tism. He  feels  himself  impelled  to  improve  the  material 
world,  society,  and  himself;  he  labors  to  do  this,  without 
attempting  to  account  to  himself  for  the  want  which  urges 
him  to  the  task.  The  barbarians  aspired  to  civilization, 
while  they  were  yet  incapable  of  it — nay,  more — while  they 
even  detested  it  whenever  its  laws  restrained  their  selfish 
desires. 

There  still  remained,  too,  a  considerable  number  of 
wrecks  and  fragments  of  Roman  civilization.  The  name  of 
the  empire,  the  remembrance  of  that  great  and  glorious 
society  still  dwelt  in  the  memory  of  many,  and  especially 
among  the  senators  of  cities,  bishops,  priests,  and  all  those 
who  could  trace  their  origin  to  the  Roman  world. 

Among  the  barbarians  themselves,  or  their  barbarian  an- 
cestors, many  had  witnessed  the  greatness  of  the  Roman 
empire:  they  had  served  in  its  armies;  they  had  conquered 
it.  The  image,  the  name  of  Roman  civilization  dazzled 
them;  they  felt  a  desire  to  imitate  it;  to  bring  it  back  again, 


5^  GENERAL    HISTORY    OF 

to  preserve  some  portion  of  it.  This  was  another  cause 
which  ought  to  have  forced  them  out  of  the  state  of  bar- 
barism which  I  have  described. 

A  third  cause,  and  one  which  readily  presents  itself  to 
every  one,  was  the  Christian  Church.  The  Christian  Church 
was  a  regularly  constituted  society;  having  its  maxims,  its 
rules,  its  discipline,  together  with  an  ardent  desire  to  extend 
its  influence,  to  conquer  its  conquerors.  Among  the  Chris- 
tians of  this  period,  in  the  Catholic  clergy,  there  were  men 
of  profound  and  varied  learning;  men  who  had  thought 
deeply,  who  were  versed  in  ethics  and  politics;  who  had 
formed  definite  opinions  and  vigorous  notions,  upon  all  sub- 
jects; who  felt  a  praiseworthy  zeal  to  propagate  information, 
and  to  advance  the  cause  of  learning.  No  society  ever  made 
greater  efforts  than  the  Christian  Church  did  from  the  fifth 
to  the  tenth  century,  to  influence  the  world  around  it,  and  to 
assimilate  it  to  itself.  When  its  history  shall  become  the 
particular  object  of  our  examination,  we  shall  more  clearly 
see  what  it  attempted — it  attacked,  in  a  manner,  barbarism 
at  every  point,  in  order  to  civilize  it  and  rule  over  it. 

Finally,  a  fourth  cause  of  the  progress  of  civilization,  a 
cause  which  it  is  impossible  strictly  to  appreciate,  but  which 
is  not  therefore  the  less  real,  was  the  appearance  of  great 
men.  To  say  why  a  great  man  appears  on  the  stage  at  a 
certain  epoch,  or  what  of  his  own  individual  development 
he  imparts  to  the  world  at  large,  is  beyond  our  power;  it  is 
the  secret  of  Providence;  but  the  fact  is  still  certain.  There 
are  men  to  whom  the  spectacle  of  society,  in  a  state  of 
anarchy  or  immobility,  is  revolting  and  almost  unbearable; 
it  occasions  them  an  intellectual  shudder,  as  a  thing  that 
should  not  be;  they  feel  an  unconquerable  desire  to  change 
it;  to  restore  order;  to  introduce  something  general,  regular 
and  permanent,  into  the  world  which  is  placed  before  them. 
Tremendous  power!  often  tyrannical,  committing  a  thousand 
iniquities,  a  thousand  errors,  for  human  weakness  accom- 
panies it.  Glorious  and  salutary  power!  nevertheless,  for  it 
gives  to  humanity,  and  by  the  hand  of  man,  a  new  and 
powerful  impulse. 

These  various  causes,  these  various  powers  working  to- 
gether, led  to  several  attempts,  between  the  fifth  and  ninth 
centuries,  to  draw  European  society  from  the  barbarous 
state  into  which  it  had  fallen. 


CIVILIZATION    IN    MODERN    EUROPE.  59 

The  first  of  these  was  the  compilation  of  the  barbarian 
laws;  an  attempt  which,  though  it  effected  but  little,  we  can- 
not pass  over,  because  it  was  made  b}^  the  barbarians  them- 
selves. Between  the  sixth  and  eighth  centuries,  the  laws  of 
nearly  all  the  barbarous  nations  (which,  however,  were 
nothing  more  than  the  rude  customs  by  which  they  had  been 
regulated,  before  their  invasion  of  the  Roman  empire)  were 
reduced  to  writing.  Of  these  there  are  enumerated  the 
codes  of  the  Burgundians,  the  Salii,  and  Ripuarian  Franks, 
the  Visigoths,  the  Lombards,  the  Saxons,  the  Frisons,  the 
Bavarians,  the  Germans,  and  some  others.  This  was  evi- 
dently a  commencement  of  civilization — an  attempt  to  bring 
society  under  the  authority  of  general  and  fixed  principles. 
Much,  however,  could  not  be  expected  from  it.  It  published 
the  laws  of  a  society  which  no  longer  existed;  the  laws  of 
the  social  system  of  the  barbarians  before  their  establish- 
ment in  the  Roman  territory — before  they  had  changed  their 
wandering  life  for  a  settled  one;  before  the  nomad  warriors 
became  lost  in  the  landed  proprietors.  It  is  true,  that  here 
and  there  may  be  found  an  article  respecting  the  lands  con- 
quered by  the  barbarians,  or  respecting  their  relations  with 
the  ancient  inhabitants  of  the  country;  some  few  bold 
attempts  were  made  to  regulate  the  new  circumstances  in 
which  they  were  placed.  But  the  far  greater  part  of  these 
laws  were  taken  up  with  their  ancient  life,  their  ancient  con- 
dition in  Germany;  were  totally  inapplicable  to  the  new  state 
of  society,  and  had  but  a  small  share  in  its  advancement. 

In  Italy  and  the  south  of  Gaul,  another  attempt  of  a 
different  character  was  made  about  this  time.  In  these 
places  Roman  society  had  not  been  so  completely  rooted  out 
as  elsewhere;  in  the  cities,  especially,  there  still  remanied 
something  of  order  and  civil  life;  and  in  these  civilization 
seemed  to  make  a  stand.  If  we  look,  for  example,  at  the 
kingdom  of  the  Ostrogoths  in  Italy  under  Theodoric,  we  shall 
see,  even  under  the  dominion  of  a  barbarous  nation  and  king, 
the  municipal  form  taking  breath,  as  it  were,  and  exercising 
a  considerable  influence  upon  the  general  tide  of  events. 
Here  Roman  manners  had  modified  the  Gothic,  and  brought 
them  in  a  great  degree  to  assume  a  likeness  to  their  own. 
The  same  thing  took  place  in  the  south  of  Gaul.  At  the 
opening  of  the  sixth  century,  Alaric,  a  Visigothic  king  of 
Toulouse,  caused  a  collection  of  the  Romans  laws  to  be 
made,  and  published  under  the  name  of  Breviariwi  Ajiiani^ 
a  code  for  his  Roman  subjects. 


6o  GENERAL    HISTORY    OF 

In  Spain,  a  diiferent  power,  that  of  the  Church,  endeav- 
ored to  restore  the  work  of  civihzation.  Instead  of  the 
ancient  German  assemblies  of  warriors,  the  assembly  that 
had  most  influence  in  Spain  was  the  Council  of  Toledo; 
and  in  this  council  the  bishops  bore  sway,  although  it  was 
attended  by  the  higher  order  of  the  laity.  Open  the  laws 
of  the  Visigoths,  and  you  will  discover  that  it  is  not  a 
code  compiled  by  barbarians,  but  bears  convincing  marks 
of  having  been  drawn  up  by  the  philosophers  of  the  age 
— by  the  clergy.  It  abounds  in  general  views,  in  theories, 
and  in  theories,  indeed,  altogether  foreign  to  barbarian 
manners.  Thus,  for  example,  we  know  that  the  legisla- 
tion of  the  barbarians  was  a  personal  legislation;  that  is  to 
say,  the  same  law  only  applied  to  one  particular  race  of 
men.  The  Romans  were  judged  by  the  old  Roman  laws, 
the  Franks  were  judged  by  the  Salian  or  Ripuarian  code;  in 
short,  each  people  had  its  separate  laws,  though  united 
under  the  same  government,  and  dwelling  together  in  the 
same  territory.  This  is  what  is  called  personal  legislation, 
in  contradistinction  to  real  legislation,  which  is  founded 
upon  territory.  Now  this  is  exactly  the  case  with  the  legis- 
lation of  the  Visigoths;  it  is  not  personal,  but  territorial. 
All  the  inhabitants  of  Spain,  Romans,  Visigoths,  or  what 
not,  were  compelled  to  yield  obedience  to  one  law.  Read  a 
little  further,  and  you  will  meet  with  still  more  striking  traces 
of  philosophy.  Among  the  barbarians  a  fixed  price  was  put 
upon  man,  according  to  his  rank  in  society — the  life  of  the 
barbarian,  the  Roman,  the  freeman,  and  vassal,  were  not 
valued  at  the  same  amount — there  was  a  graduated  scale  of 
prices.  But  the  principle  that  all  men's  lives  are  of  equal 
worth  in  the  eyes  of  the  law,  was  established  by  the  code  of 
the  Visigoths.  The  same  superiority  is  observable  in  their 
judicial  proceedings  : — instead  of  the  ordeal,  the  oath  of 
compurgators,  or  trial  by  battle,  you  will  find  the  proofs 
established  by  witnesses,  and  a  rational  examination  made  of 
the  fact,  such  as  might  take  place  in  a  civilized  society.  In 
short,  the  code  of  the  Visigoths  bore  throughout  evident 
marks  of  learning,  system,  and  polity.  In  it  we  trace  the 
hand  of  the  same  clergy  that  acted  in  the  Council  of  Toledo, 
and  which  exercised  so  large  and  beneficial  an  influence 
upon  the  government  of  the  country. 

In  Spain  then,  up  to  the  time  of  the  great  invasion  of  the 
Saracens,  it  was  the  hierarchy  which  made  the  greatest 
efforts  to  advance  civilization. 


CIVILIZATION    IN    MODERN    EUROPE.  '61 

In  France  the  attempt  was  made  by  another  power.  It 
was  the  work  of  great  men,  and  above  all  of  Charlemagne. 
Examine  his  reign  under  its  different  aspects;  and  you  will 
see  that  the  darling  object  of  his  life  was  to  civilize  the 
nations  he  governed.  Let  us  regard  him  first  as  a  warrior. 
He  was  always  in  the  field;  from  the  south  to  the  northeast, 
from  the  Ebro  to  the  Elbe  and  Weser.  Perhaps  you  imagine 
that  these  expeditions  were  the  effect  of  choice,  and  sprung 
from  a  pure  love  of  conquest?  No  such  thing.  I  will  not 
assert  that  he  pursued  any  very  regular  system,  or  that 
there  was  much  diplomacy  or  strategy  in  his  plans;  but  what 
he  did  sprang  from  necessity,  and  a  desire  to  repress  bar- 
barism. From  the  beginning  to  the  end  of  his  reign  he  was 
occupied  in  staying  the  progress  of  a  double  invasion — that 
of  the  Mohammedans  in  the  south,  and  that  of  the  Germanic 
and  Slavonic  tribes  in  the  north.  This  is  what  gave  the 
reign  of  Charlemagne  its  military  cast.  I  have  already  said 
that  his  expeditions  against  the  Saxons  were  undertaken  for 
the  same  pupose.  If  we  pass  on  from  his  wars  to  his  govern- 
ment, we  shall  find  the  case  much  the  same:  his  leading 
object  was  to  introduce  order  and  unity  in  every  part  of  his 
extensive  dominions.  I  have  not  said  kingdom  or  state^  be- 
cause these  words  are  too  precise  in  their  signification,  and 
call  up  ideas  which  bear  but  little  relation  to  the  society  of 
which  Charlemagne  stood  at  the  head.  Thus  much,  how- 
ever, seems  certain,  that  when  he  found  himself  master  of 
this  vast  territory,  it  mortified  and  grieved  him  to  see  all 
within  it  so  precarious  and  unsettled — to  see  anarchy  and 
brutality  everywhere  prevailing — and  it  was  the  first  wish  of 
his  heart  to  better  this  wretched  condition  of  society.  He 
endeavored  to  do  this  at  first  by  his  7nissi  regii^  whom  he  sent 
into  every  part  of  his  dominions  to  find  out  and  correct 
abuses;  to  amend  the  mal-administration  of  justice,  and  to 
render  him  an  account  of  all  that  was  wrong;  and  afterv/ard 
by  the  general  assemblies  or  parliaments  as  they  have  been 
called  of  the  Champ  de  Mars,  which  he  held  more  regularly 
than  any  of  his  predecessors.  These  assemblies  he  made 
nearly  every  considerable  person  in  his  dominions  to  attend. 
They  were  not  assemblies  formed  for  the  preservation  of  the 
liberty  of  the  subject,  there  was  nothing  in  them  bearing  any 
likeness  to  the  deliberations  of  our  own  days.  But  Charle- 
magne found  them  a  means  by  which  he  could  become  well 
informed  of  facts  and  circumstances,  and  by  which  he  could 
introduce  some  regulation,  some  unity,  into  the  restless  and 
disorganized  populations  he  had  to  govern. 


62  GENERAL    HISTORY    OF 

In  whatever  point  of  view,  indeed,  we  regard  the  reign 
of  Charlemagne,  we  always  find  its  leading  characteristic  to 
be  a  desire  to  overcome  barbarism,  and  to  advance  civiliza- 
tion. We  see  this  conspicuously  in  his  foundation  of  schools, 
in  his  collecting  of  libraries,  in  his  gathering  about  him  the 
learned  of  all  countries;  in  the  favor  he  showed  toward  the 
influence  of  the  Church,  for  everything,  in  a  word,  which 
seemed  likely  to  operate  beneficially  upon  society  in  general, 
or  the  individual  man. 

An  attempt  of  the  same  nature  was  made  very  soon  after- 
ward in  England,  by  Alfred  the  Great 

These  are  some  of  the  means  which  were  in  opera- 
tion, from  the  fifth  to  the  ninth  century,  in  various  parts 
of  Europe,  which  seemed  likely  to  put  an  end  to  bar- 
barism. 

None  of  them  succeeded.  Charlemagne  was  unable  to 
establish  his  great  empire,  and  the  system  of  government  by 
which  he  wished  to  rule  it.  The  Church  succeeded  no 
better  in  its  attempt  in  Spain  to  found  a  system  of  theocracy. 
And  though  in  Italy  and  the  south  of  France,  Roman  civili- 
zation made  several  attempts  to  raise  its  head,  it  was  not  till 
a  later  period,  till  toward  the  end  of  the  tenth  century,  that 
it  in  reality  acquired  any  vigor.  Up  to  this  time,  every  effort 
to  put  an  end  to  barbarism  failed:  they  supposed  men  more 
advanced  than  they  in  reality  were.  They  all  desired,  under 
various  forms,  to  establish  a  society  more  extensive,  or  better 
regulated,  than  the  spirit  of  the  age  was  prepared  for.  The 
attempts,  however,  were  not  lost  to  mankind.  At  the  com- 
mencement of  the  tenth  century,  there  was  no  longer  any 
visible  appearance  of  the  great  empire  of  Charlemagne,  nor 
of  the  glorious  councils  of  Toledo,  but  barbarism  was  drawing 
nigh  its  end.     Two  great  results  were  obtained: 

I.  The  movement  of  the  invading  hordes  had  been 
stopped  both  in  the  north  and  in  the  south.  Upon  the  dis- 
memberment of  the  empire  of  Charlemagne,  the  states,  w^hich 
became  formed  upon  the  right  bank  of  the  Rhine,  opposed 
an  effectual  barrier  to  the  tribes  which  advanced  from  the 
west.  The  Danes  and  Normans  are  an  incontestable  proof 
of  this.  Up  to  this  time,  if  we  except  the  Saxon  attacks 
upon  England,  the  invasions  of  the  German  tribes  by  sea 
had   not  been  very  considerable:  but   in  the  course   of  the 


CIVILIZATION    IN    MODERN    EUROPE.  6;^ 

ninth  century  they  became  constant  and  general.  And  this 
happened,  because  invasions  by  land  had  become  exceedingly 
difficult;  society  had  acquired,  on  this  side,  frontiers  more 
fixed  and  secure;  and  that  portion  of  the  wandering  nations, 
which  could  not  be  pressed  back,  were  at  least  turned  from 
their  ancient  course,  and  compelled  to  proceed  by  sea. 
Great  as  undoubtedly  was  the  misery  occasioned  to  the  west 
of  Europe  by  the  incursions  of  these  pirates  and  marauders, 
they  still  were  much  less  hurtful  than  the  invasions  by  land, 
and  disturbed  much  less  generally  the  newly-forming  society. 
In  the  south,  the  case  was  much  the  same.  The  Arabs  had 
settled  in  Spain;  and  the  struggle  between  them  and  the 
Christians  still  continued;  but  this  occasioned  no  new  emi- 
gration of  nations.  Bands  of  Saracens  still,  from  time  to 
time,  infested  the  coasts  of  the  Mediterranean,  but  the  great 
career  of  Islamism  was  arrested. 

2.  In  the  interior  of  Europe  we  begin  at  this  time  to  see 
the  wandering  life  decline:  populations  became  fixed;  estates 
and  landed  possessions  became  settled;  the  relations  between 
man  and  man  no  longer  varied  from  day  to  day  under  the 
influence  of  force  or  chance.  The  interior  and  moral  condi- 
tion of  man  himself  began  to  undergo  a  change;  his  ideas, 
his  sentiments,  began,  like  his  life,  to  assume  a  more  fixed 
character.  He  began  to  feel  an  attachment  to  the  place  in 
which  he  dwelt;  to  the  connexions  and  associations  which  he 
there  formed;  to  those  domains  which  he  now  calculated 
upon  leaving  to  his  children;  to  that  dwelling  which  here- 
after became  his  castle;  to  that  miserable  assemblage  of 
serfs  and  slaves,  which  was  one  day  to  become  a  village. 
Little  societies  everywhere  began  to  be  formed;  little  states 
to  be  cut  out  according  to  the  measure,  if  I  may  so  sa)^  of 
the  capacities  and  prudence  of  men.  There,  societies 
gradually  became  connected  by  a  tie,  the  origin  of  which  is 
to  be  found  in  the  manners  of  the  German  barbarians:  the 
tie  of  a  confederation  which  would  not  destroy  individual 
freedom.  On  one  side  we  find  every  considerable  proprietor 
settling  himself  in  his  domains,  surrounded  only  by  his 
family  and  retainers;  on  the  other,  a  certain  graduated 
subordination  of  services  and  rights  existing  among  all  these 
military  proprietors  scattered  over  the  land.  Here  we  have 
the  feudal  system  oozing  at  last  out  of  the  bosom  of  bar- 
barism. Of  the  various  elements  of  our  civilizations,  it  was 
natural  enough  that  the  Germanic  element  should  first  pre- 
vail.    It  was  already  in  possession  of  power;  it  had  con- 


64  GENERAL    HISTORY    OF    CIVILIZATION. 

quered  Europe:  from  it  European  civilization  was  to  receive 
its  first  form — its  first  social  organization. 

The  character  of  this  form — the  character  of  feudalism, 
and  the  influence  it  had  exercised  upon  European  civilization 
— will  be  the  object  of  my  next  lecture;  while  in  the  very 
bosom  of  this  system,  in  its  meridian,  we  shall,  at  every  step, 
meet  with  the  other  elements  of  our  own  social  system, 
monarchy,  the  Church,  and  the  communities  or  free  cities. 
We  shall  feel  pre-assured  that  these  were  not  destined  to 
fall  under  this  feudal  form,  to  which  they  adapted  themselves 
while  struggling  against  it;  and  that  we  may  look  forward  to 
the  hour  when  victory  will  declare  itself  for  them  in  their 
turn. 


LECTURE    lY. 

THE    FEUDAL    SYSTEM. 

I  HAVE  thus  far  endeavored  to  give  you  a  view  of  the 
state  of  Europe  upon  the  fall  of  the  Roman  empire;  of  its 
state  in  the  first  period  of  modern  history — in  the  period  of 
barbarism.  We  have  seen  that  at  the  end  of  the  period, 
toward  the  beginning  of  the  tenth  century,  the  first  principle, 
the  first  system,  which  took  possession  of  European  society, 
was  the  feudal  system — that  out  of  the  very  bosom  of  bar- 
barism sprung  feudalism.  The  investigation  of  this  system 
will  be  the  subject  of  the  present  lecture. 

I  need  scarcely  remind  you  that  it  is  not  the  history  of 
events,  properly  so  called,  that  we  propose  to  consider.  I 
shall  not  here  recount  the  destinies  of  the  feudal  system. 
The  subject  which  engages  our  attention  is  the  history  of 
civilization;  it  is  that  general,  hidden  fact,  which  we  have  to 
seek  for,  out  of  all  the  exterior  facts  in  which  its  existence  is 
contained. 

Thus  the  events,  the  social  crisises,  the  various  states 
through  which  society  has  passed,  will  in  no  way  interest  us, 
except  so  far  as  they  are  connected  with  the  growth  of  civili- 
zation; we  have  only  to  learn  from  them  how  they  have 
retarded  or  forwarded  this  great  work;  what  they  have  given 
it,  and  what  they  have  withheld  from  it.  It  is  only  in  this 
point  of  view  that  we  shall  consider  the  feudal  system. 

In  the  first  of  these  lectures  we  settled  what  civilization 
was;  we  endeavored  to  discover  its  elements;  we  saw  that  it 
consisted,  on  one  side,  in  the  development  of  man  himself, 
of  the  individual,  of  humanity;  on  the  other,  of  his  outward 
or  social  condition.  When  then  we  come  to  any  event,  to 
any  system,  to  any  general  condition  of  society,  we  have  this 
twofold  question  to  put  to  it:  What  has  it  done  for  or  against 
the  development  of  man — for  or  against  the  development  of 
society?  It  will,  however,  be  at  once  seen  that,  in  the  inves- 
tigation we  have  undertaken,  it  will  be  impossible  for  us  not 
to  come  in  contact  with  some  of  tne  grandest  questions  in 
moral  philosophy.     When  we  would,  for  example,  know  in 


66  .  GENERAL    HISTORY    OF 

what  an  event,  a  system,  has  contributed  to  the  progress  of 
man  and  of  society,  it  is  necessary  that  we  should  know  what 
is  the  t7'ue  development  of  society  and  of  man;  and  be 
enabled  to  detect  those  developments  which  are  deceitful, 
illegitimate — which  pervert  instead  of  meliorate — which  cause 
them  to  retrograde  instead  of  to  advance.  We  shall  not  at- 
tempt to  elude  this  task.  By  so  doing  we  should  mutilate 
and  weaken  our  ideas,  as  well  as  the  facts  themselves. 
Besides,  the  present  state  of  the  world,  the  spirit  of  the  age, 
compels  us  at  once  frankly  to  welcome  this  inevitable  alliance 
of  philosophy  and  history. 

This  indeed  forms  a  striking,  perhaps  the  essential,  charac- 
teristic of  the  present  times.  We  are  now  compelled  to 
consider — science  and  reality — theory  and  practice — right 
and  fact — and  to  make  them  move  side  by  side.  Down  to 
the  present  time  these  two  powers  have  lived  apart.  The 
world  has  been  accustomed  to  see  theory  and  practice  follow- 
ing two  different  routes,  unknown  to  each  other,  or  at  least 
never  meeting.  When  doctrines,  when  general  ideas,  have 
wished  to  intermeddle  in  affairs,  to  influence  the  world,  it 
has  only  been  able  to  effect  this  under  the  appearance  and 
by  the  aid  of  fanaticism.  Up  to  the  present  time  the  govern- 
ment of  human  societies,  the  direction  of  their  affairs,  have 
been  divided  between  two  sorts  of  influences;  on  one  side 
theorists,  men  who  would  rule  all  according  to  abstract 
notions — enthusiasts;  on  the  other,  men  ignorant  of  all 
rational  principle — experimentalists,  whose  only  guide  is  ex- 
pediency. This  state  of  things  is  now  over.  The  world 
will  no  longer  agitate  for  the  sake  of  some  abstract  principle, 
some  fanciful  theory — some  Utopian  government  which  can 
only  exist  in  the  imagination  of  an  enthusiast;  nor  will  it  put 
up  with  practical  abuses  and  oppressions,  however  favored 
by  prescription  and  expediency,  where  they  are  opposed  to 
the  just  principles  and  the  legitimate  end  of  government. 
To  ensure  respect,  to  obtain  confidence,  governing  powers 
must  now  unite  theory  and  practice;  they  must  know  and 
acknowledge  the  influence  of  both.  They  must  regard  as 
well  principles  as  facts;  must  respect  both  truth  and  neces- 
sity— must  shun,  on  one  hand,  the  blind  pride  of  the  fanatic 
theorist,  and,  on  the  other,  the  no  less  blind  pride  of  the 
libertine  practician.  To  this  better  state  of  things  we  have 
been  brought  by  the  progress  of  the  human  mind  and  the 
progress  of  society.  On  one  side  the  human  mind  is  so  ele- 
vated and  enlarged  that  it  is  able  to  view  at  once,  as  a  whole, 


CIVILIZATION    IN    MODERN    EUROPE.  67 

the  subject  or  fact  which  comes  under  its  notice,  with  all  the 
various  circumstances  and  principles  which  affect  it — these  it 
calculates  and  combines — it  so  opposes,  mixes,  and  arranges 
them — that  while  the  everlasting  principle  is  placed  boldly 
and  prominently  forward  so  as  not  to  be  mistaken,  care  is 
taken  that  it  shall  not  be  endangered,  that  its  progress  shall 
not  be  retarded  by  a  negligent  or  rash  estimate  of  the  cir- 
cumstances which  oppose  it.  On  the  other  side,  social 
systems  are  so  improved  as  no  longer  to  shrink  from  the 
light  of  truth;  so  improved,  that  facts  may  be  brought  to  the 
test  of  science — practice  may  be  placed  by  the  side  of  theory, 
and,  notwithstanding  its  many  imperfections,  the  comparison 
will  excite  in  us  neither  discouragement  nor  disgust. 

I  shall  give  way,  then,  freely  to  this  natural  tendency — 
to  this  spirit  of  the  age,  by  passing  continually  from  the 
investigation  of  circumstances  to  the  investigation  of  ideas 
— from  an  exposition  of  facts  to  the  consideration  of  doc- 
trines. Perhaps  there  is,  in  the  present  disposition  of  the 
public,  another  reason  in  favor  of  this  method.  For  some 
time  past  there  has  existed  among  us  a  decided  taste,  a  sort 
of  predilection  for  facts,  for  looking  at  things  in  a  practical 
point  of  view.  We  have  been  so  much  a  prey  to  the  despot- 
ism of  abstract  ideas,  of  theories  —  they  have,  in  some 
respects,  cost  us  so  dear,  that  we  now  regard  them  with  a 
degree  of  distrust.  We  like  better  to  refer  to  facts,  to  par- 
ticular circumstances,  and  to  judge  and  act  accordingly. 
Let  us  not  complain  of  this.  It  is  a  new  advance — it  is  a 
grand  step  in  knowledge,  and  toward  the  empire  of  truth; 
provided,  however,  we  do  not  suffer  ourselves  to  be  carried 
too  far  by  this  disposition — provided  that  w^e  do  not  forget 
that  truth  alone  has  a  right  to  reign  tn  the  world;  that  facts 
have  no  merit  but  in  proportion  as  they  bear  its  stamp,  and 
assimilate  themselves  more  and  more  to  its  image;  that  all 
true  grandeur  proceeds  from  mind;  that  all  expansion  be- 
longs to  it.  The  civilization  of  France  possesses  this  pecu- 
liar character;  it  has  never  been  wanting  in  intellectual  gran- 
deur. It  has  always  been  rich  in  ideas.  The  power  of  mind 
has  been  great  in  French  society — greater,  perhaps,  than 
anywhere  else.  It  must  not  lose  this  happy  privilege — it 
must  not  fall  into  that  lower,  that  somewhat  material  con- 
dition which  prevails  in  other  socizties.  Intelligence, 
theories,  must  still  maintain  in  Francj  :he  same  rank  which 
they  have  hitherto  occupied. 

I  shall  not  then  attempt  to  shun  these  general  and  philo- 
sophical questions.     I  will  not  go  out  of  my  way  to  seek 


68  GENERAL    HISTORY    OF 

them,  but  when  circumstances  bring  them,  naturally  before 
me,  I  shall  attack  them  without  hesitation  or  embarrassment. 
This  will  be  the  case  more  than  once  in  considering  the 
feudal  system  as  connected  with  the  history  of  European 
civilization. 

A  great  proof  that  in  the  tenth  century  the  feudal  system 
was  necessary,  and  the  only  social  system  practicable,  is  the 
universality  of  its  adoption.  Wherever  barbarism  ceased, 
feudalism  became  general.  This  at  first  struck  men  as  the 
triumph  of  chaos.  All  unit}^,  all  general  civilization  seemed 
gone;  society  on  all  sides  seemed  dismembered;  a  multitude 
of  petty,  obscure,  isolated,  incoherent  societies  arose.  This 
appeared,  to  those  who  lived  and  saw  it,  universal  anarchy 
— the  dissolution  of  all  things.  Consult  the  poets  and  his- 
torians of  the  day:  they  all  believed  that  the  end  of  the 
world  was  at  hand.  Yet  this  was,  in  truth,  a  new  and  real 
social  system  which  was  forming:  feudal  society  was  so 
necessary,  so  inevitable,  so  altogether  the  only  consequnece 
that  could  flow  from  the  previous  state  of  things,  that  all 
entered  into  it,  all  adopted  its  form.  Even  elements  the 
most  foreign  to  this  system,  the  Church,  the  free  commu- 
nities, royalty,  all  were  constrained  to  accommodate  them- 
selves to  it.  Churches  became  sovereigns  and  vassals;  cities 
became  lords  and  vassals;  royalty  was  hidden  under  the 
feudal  suzerain.  All  things  were  given  in  fief,  not  only 
estates,  but  rights  and  privileges:  the  right  to  cut  wood  in 
the  forest,  the  privilege  of  fishing.  The  churches  gave  their 
surplice-fees  in  fief:  the  revenues  of  baptism — the  fees  for 
churching  women.  In  the  same  mannner,  too,  that  all  the 
great  elements  of  society  were  drawn  within  the  feudal  en- 
closure, so  even  the  smallest  portions,  the  most  trifling  cir- 
cumstances of  common  life,  became  subject  to  feudalism. 

In  observing  the  feudal  system  thus  taking  possession  of 
every  part  of  society,  one  might  be  apt,  at  first,  to  believe 
that  the  essential,  vital  principle  of  feudalism  everywhere 
prevailed.  This  would  be  a  grand  mistake.  Although  they 
put  on  the  feudal  form,  yet  the  institutions,  the  elements  of 
society  which  were  not  analogous  to  the  feudal  system,  did 
not  lose  their  nature,  the  principles  by  which  they  were  dis- 
tinguished. The  feudal  church,  for  example,  never  ceased 
for  a  moment  to  be  animated  and  governed  at  bottom  b)'  the 
principles  of  theocracy,  and  she  never  for  a  moment  relaxed 
her  endeavors  to  gain  for  this  the  predominancy.     Now  she 


CIVILIZATION    IN    MODERN    EUROPE.  69 

leagued  with  royalty,  now  with  the  pope,  and  now  with  the 
people,  to  destroy  this  system,  whose  livery,  for  the  time, 
she  was  compelled  to  put  on.  It  was  the  same  with  royalty 
and  the  free  cities:  in  one  the  principle  of  monarchy,  in  the 
others  the  principle  of  democracy,  continued  fundamentally 
to  prevail:  and,  notwithstanding  their  feudal  appearance, 
these  various  elements  of  European  society  constantly 
labored  to  deliver  themselves  from  a  form  so  foreign  to  their 
nature,  and  to  put  on  that  which  corresponded  with  their 
true  and  vital  principle. 

Though  perfectly  satisfied,  therefore,  of  the  universality 
of  the  feudal  fonn^  we  must  take  care  not  to  conclude  on 
that  account,  that  the  feudal  principle  was  equally  universal. 
We  must  be  no  less  cautious  not  to  take  our  ideas  of  feudal- 
ism indifferently  from  every  object  which  bears  its  physiog- 
nomy. In  order  to  know  and  understand  this  system 
thoroughly — to  unravel  and  judge  of  its  effects  upon  modern 
civilization — we  must  seek  it  where  the  form  and  spirit  dwell 
together;  we  must  study  it  in  the  hierarchy  of  the  laic  pos- 
sessors of  fiefs;  in  the  association  of  the  conquerors  of  the 
European  territory.  This  was  the  true  residence  of  the  feu- 
dal system,  and  into  this  we  will  now  endeavor  to  penetrate. 

I  said  a  few  words,  just  now,  on  the  importance  of  ques- 
tions of  a  moral  nature;  and  on  the  danger  and  inconvenience 
of  passing  them  by  without  proper  attention.  A  matter  of 
a  totally  opposite  character  arises  here,  and  demands  our 
consideration;  it  \z  one  which  has  been,  in  general,  too  much 
neglected.  I  allude  to  the  physical  condition  of  society;  to 
the  changes  which  take  place  in  the  life  and  manners  of  a 
people  in  consequence  of  some  new  event,  some  revolution, 
some  new  state  into  which  it  may  be  thrown.  These  changes 
have  not  always  been  sufificiently  attended  to.  The  modifi- 
cation which  these  great  crisises  in  the  history  of  the  world 
have  wrought  in  the  material  existence  of  mankind — in  the 
physical  conditions  of  the  relation  of  men  to  one  another — 
have  not  been  investigated  with  so  much  advantage  as  they 
might  have  been.  These  modifications  have  more  influence 
upon  the  general  body  of  society  than  is  imagined.  Every 
one  knows  how  much  has  been  said  upon  the  influence  of 
climate,  and  of  the  importance  which  Montesquieu  attached 
to  it.  Now  if  we  regard  only  the  direct  influence  of  climate 
upon  man,  perhaps  it  has  not  been  so  extensive  as  is  gen- 
erally supposed;  it  is,  to  say  the  least,  vague  and  difficult  to 
appreciate;  but  the  indirect  influence  of  climate,  that,  for 


70  GENERAL    HISTORY    OF 

example,  which  arises  from  the  circumstance  that  in  a  hot 
country  man  lives  in  the  open  air,  while  in  a  cold  one  he 
lives  shut  up  in  his  habitation — that  he  lives  here  upon  one 
kind  of  food,  and  there  upon  another,  are  facts  of  extreme 
importance;  inasmuch  as  a  simple  change  in  physical  life 
may  have  a  powerful  effect  upon  the  course  of  civilization. 
Every  great  revolution  leads  to  modifications  of  this  nature 
in  the  social  system,  and  consequently  claims  our  considera- 
tion.- 

The  establishment  of  the  feudal  system  wrought  a  change 
of  this  kind,  which  had  a  powerful  and  striking  influence 
upon  European  civilization.  It  changed  the  distribution  of 
the  population.  Hitherto  the  lords  of  the  territory,  the  con- 
quering population,  had  lived  united  in  masses  more  or  less 
numerous,  either  settled  in  cities,  or  moving  about  the  coun- 
try in  bands;  but  by  the  operation  of  the  feudal  system  these 
men  were  brought  to  live  isolated,  each  in  his  dwelling,  at 
long  distances  apart.  You  will  instantly  perceive  the  in- 
fluence which  this  change  must  have  exercised  upon  the 
character  and  progress  of  civilization.  The  social  prepon- 
derance— the  government  of  society,  passed  at  once  from 
cities  to  the  country;  the  baronial  courts  of  the  great  landed 
proprietors  took  the  place  of  the  great  national  assemblies — 
the  public  body  was  lost  in  the  thousand  little  sovereignties 
into  which  every  kingdom  was  split.  This  was  the  first  con- 
sequence— a  consequence  purely  physical,  of  the  triumph  of 
the  feudal  system.  The  more  closely  we  examine  this  cir- 
cumstance, the  more  clearly  and  forcibly  will  its  effects  pre- 
sent themselves  to  our  notice. 

Let  us  now  examine  this  society  in  itself,  and  trace  out 
its  influence  upon  the  progress  of  civilization.  We  will  take 
feudalism,  in  the  first  place,  in  its  most  simple  state,  in  its 
primitive  fundamental  form.  We  will  visit  a  possessor  of  a 
fief  in  his  lonely  domain;  we  will  see  the  course  of  life  which 
he  leads  there,  and  the  little  society  by  which  he  is  sur- 
rounded. 

Having  fixed  upon  an  elevated  solitary  spot,  strong  by 
nature,  and  which  he  takes  care  to  render  secure,  the  lordly 
proprietor  of  the  domain  builds  his  castle.  Here  he  settles 
himself,  with  his  wife  and  children,  and  perhaps  some  few 
freemen,  who,  not  having  obtained  fiefs,  not  having  them- 
selves become  proprietors,  have  attached  themselves  to  his 
fortunes,  and  continued  to  live  with   him  and  form  a  part  of 


CIVILIZATION    IN    MODERN    EUROPE.  7I 

his  household.  These  are  the  inhabitants  of  the  interior  of 
the  castle.  At  the  foot  of  the  hill  on  which  this  castle  stands 
we  find  huddled  together  a  little  population  of  peasants,  of 
serfs,  who  cultivate  the  lands  of  the  possessor  of  the  fief. 
In  the  midst  of  this  group  of  cottages  religion  soon  planted 
a  church  and  a  priest.  A  priest,  in  these  early  days  of 
feudalism,  was  generally  the  chaplain  of  the  baron,  and  the 
curate  of  the  village,  two  offices  which  by  and  by  became 
separated,  and  the  village  had  its  pastor  dwelling  by  the 
side  of  his  church. 

Such  is  the  first  form,  the  elementary  principle,  of  feudal 
society.  We  will  now  examine  this  simple  form,  in  order  to 
put  to  it  the  twofold  question  we  have  to  ask  of  every  fact, 
namely,  what  it  has  done  toward  the  progress — first,  of  man, 
himself;  secondly,  of  society? 

It  is  with  peculiar  propriety  that  we  put  this  twofold 
question  to  the  little  society  I  have  just  described,  and  that 
we  should  attach  importance  to  its  answers,  forasmuch  as 
this  society  is  the  type,  the  faithful  picture,  of  feudal  society 
in  the  aggregate;  the  baron,  the  people  of  his  domain,  and 
the  priest,  compose,  whether  upon  a  large  or  smaller  scale, 
the  feudal  system  when  separated  from  monarchy  and  cities, 
two  distinct  and  foreign  elements. 

The  first  circumstance  which  strikes  us  in  looking  at  this 
little  community,  is  the  great  importance  with  which  the 
possessor  of  the  fief  must  have  been  regarded,  not  only  by 
himself,  but  by  all  around  him.  A  feelmg  of  personal  con- 
sequence, of  individual  liberty,  was  a  prevailing  feature  in 
the  character  of  the  barbarians.  The  feeling  here,  however, 
was  of  a  different  nature;  it  was  no  longer  simply  the  liberty 
of  the  man,  of  the  warrior,  it  was  the  importance  of  the  pro- 
prietor, of  the  head  of  the  family,  of  the  master.  His  situa- 
tion, with  regard  to  all  around  him,  would  naturally  beget  in 
him  an  idea  of  superiority — a  superiority  of  a  peculiar  nature, 
and  very  different  from  that  we  meet  with  in  other  systems 
of  civilization.  Look,  for  example,  at  the  Roman  patrician, 
who  was  placed  in  one  of  the  highest  aristocratic  situations 
of  the  ancient  world.  Like  the  feudal  lord,  he  was  head  of 
the  family,  superior,  master;  and  besides  this,  he  was  a 
religious  magistrate,  high  priest  over  his  household.  But 
mark  the  difference:  his  importance  as  a  religious  magistrate 
is  derived  from  without.  It  is  not  an  importance  strictly 
personal,  attached  to  the  individual:  he  receives  it  from  on 


72  GENERAL    HISTORY    OF 

high;  he  is  the  delegate  of  divinity,  the  interpreter  of  reli- 
gious faith.  The  Roman  patrician,  moreover,  was  the  member 
of  a  corporation  which  lived  united  in  the  same  place — a 
member  of  the  senate — again,  an  importance  which  he 
derived  from  without  from  his  corporation.  The  greatness 
of  these  ancient  aristocrats,  associated  to  a  religious  and 
political  character,  belonged  to  the  situation,  to  the  corpora- 
tion in  general,  rather  than  to  the  individual.  That  of  the 
proprietor  of  a  fief  belonged  to  himself  alone;  he  held 
nothing  of  any  one;  all  his  rights,  all  his  power,  centred  in 
himself.  He  is  no  religious  magistrate;  he  forms  no  part  of 
a  senate;  it  is  in  the  individual,  in  his  own  person,  that  all 
his  importance  resides — all  that  he  is,  he  is  of  him.self,  in  his 
own  name  alone.  What  a  vast  influence  must  a  situation  like 
this  have  exercised  over  him  who  enjoyed  it!  What  haughti- 
ness, what  pride,  must  it  have  engendered!  Above  him,  no 
superior  of  whom  he  was  but  the  representative  and  inter- 
preter; near  him  no  equals;  no  general  and  powerful  law  to 
restrain  him — no  exterior  force  to  control  him;  his  will 
suffered  no  check  but  from  the  limits  of  his  power,  and  the 
presence  of  danger.  Such  seems  to  me  the  moral  effect  that 
would  naturally  be  produced  upon  the  character  or  disposi- 
tion of  man,  by  the  situation  in  which  he  was  placed  under 
the  feudal  system. 

I  shall  proced  to  a  second  consequence  equally  important, 
though  too  little  noticed;  I  mean  the  peculiar  character  of 
the  feudal  family. 

Let  us  consider  for  a  moment  the  various  family  systems. 
Let  us  look,  in  the  first  place,  at  the  patriarchal  family,  of 
which  so  beautiful  a  picture  is  given  us  in  the  Bible,  and  in 
numerous  Oriental  treatises.  We  find  it  composed  of  a  great 
number  of  individuals — it  was  a  tribe.  The  chief,  the  patri- 
arch, in  this  case,  lives  in  common  with  his  children,  with 
his  neighbors,  with  the  various  generations  assembled  around 
him — all  his  relations  or  his  servants.  He  not  only  lives 
with  them,  he  has  the  same  interests,  the  same  occupations, 
he  leads  the  same  life.  This  was  the  situation  of  Abraham, 
and  of  the  patriarchs;  and  is  still  that  of  the  Bedouin  Arabs, 
who,  from  generation  to  generation,  continue  to  follow  the 
same  patriarchal  mode  of  life. 

Let  us  look  next  at  the  dan — another  family  system, which 
now  scarcely  exists,   except   in   Scotland  and  Ireland,  but 


CIVILIZATION    IN    MODERN    EUROPE.  73 

through  which  probably  the  greater  part  of  the  European 
world  has  passed.  This  is  no  longer  the  patriarchal  family. 
A  great  difference  is  found  here  between  the  chief  and  the 
rest  of  the  community;  he  leads  not  the  same  life;  the  greater 
part  are  employed  in  husbandry,  and  in  supplying  his  wants, 
while  the  chief  himself  lives  in  idleness  or  war.  Still  they 
all  descend  from  the  same  stock;  they  all  bear  the  same 
name;  and  their  common  parentage,  their  ancient  traditions, 
the  same  remembrances,  and  the  same  associations,  create  a 
moral  tie,  a  sort  of  equality,  between  the  members  of  the 
clan. 

These  are  the  two  principal  forms  of  family  society  as 
represented  by  history.  Does  either  of  them,  let  me  ask 
you,  resemble  the  feudal  family?  Certainly  not.  At  the  first 
glance,  there  may,  indeed,  seem  seme  similarity  between  the 
feudal  family  and  the  clan;  but  the  difference  is  marked  and 
striking.  The  population  which  surrounds  the  possessor  of 
the  fief  is  quite  foreign  to  him;  it  bears  not  his  name.  They 
are  unconnected  by  relationship,  or  by  any  historical  or 
moral  tie.  The  same  holds  with  respect  to  the  patriarchal 
family.  The  feudal  proprietor  neither  leads  the  same  life, 
nor  follows  the  same  occupations  as  those  who  live  around 
him;  he  is  engaged  in  arms,  or  lives  in  idleness:  the  others 
are  laborers.  The  feudal  family  is  not  numerous — it  forms 
no  tribe — it  is  confined  to  a  single  family  properly  so  called; 
to  the  wife  and  children,  who  live  separated  from  the  rest  of 
the  people  in  the  interior  of  the  castle.  The  peasantry  and 
serfs  form  no  part  of  it;  they  are  of  another  origin,  and  im- 
measurably beneath  it.  Five  or  six  individuals,  at  a  vast 
height  above  them,  and  at  the  same  time  foreigners,  make 
up  the  feudal  family.  Is  it  not  evident  that  the  peculiarity 
of  its  situation  must  have  given  to  this  family  a  peculiar 
character?  Confined,  concentrated,  called  upon  continually 
to  defend  itself;  mistrusting,  or  at  least  shutting  itself  up 
from  the  rest  of  the  world,  even  from  its  servants,  in-door 
life,  domestic  manners  must  naturally  have  acquired  a  great 
preponderance.  We  cannot  keep  out  of  sight,  that  the 
grosser  passions  of  the  chief,  the  constantly  passing  his  time 
in  warfare  or  hunting,  opposed  a  considerable  obstacle  to  the 
formation  of  a  strictly  domestic  society.  But  its  progress, 
though  slow,  was  certain.  The  chief,  however  violent  and 
brutal  his  out-door  exercises,  must  habitually  return  into  the 
bosom  of  his  family.  He  there  finds  his  wife  and  children, 
and  scarcely  any  but  them;  they  alone  are  his  constant  com- 


74  GENERAL    HISTORY    OF 

panions;  they  alone  divide  his  sorrows  and  soften  his  joys; 
they  alone  are  interested  in  all  that  concerns  him.  It  could 
not  but  happen  in  such  circumstances,  that  domestic  life 
must  have  acquired  a  vast  influence;  nor  is  there  any  lack  of 
proofs  that  it  did  so.  Was  it  not  in  the  bosom  of  the  feudal 
family  that  the  importance  of  women,  that  the  value  of  the 
wife  and  mother,  at  last  made  itself  known?  In  none  of  the 
ancient  communities,  not  merely  speaking  of  those  in  which 
the  spirit  of  family  never  existed,  but  in  those  in  which  it 
existed  most  powerfully — say,  for  example,  in  the  patriarchal 
system — in  none  of  these  did  women  ever  attain  to  anything 
like  the  place  which  they  acquired  in  Europe  under  the  feu- 
dal system.  It  is  to  the  progress,  to  the  preponderance  of 
domestic  manners  in  the  feudal  halls  and  castles,  that  they 
owe  this  change,  this  improvement  in  their  condition.  The 
cause  of  this  has  been  sought  for  in  the  peculiar  manners  of 
the  ancient  Germans;  in  a  national  respect  which  they  are 
said  to  have  borne,  in  the  midst  of  their  forests,  to  the 
female  sex.  Upon  a  single  phrase  of  Tacitus,  Germanic 
patriotism  has  founded  a  high  degre  of  superiority— of 
primitive  and  ineffable  purity  of  manners — in  the  relations 
between  the  two  sexes  among  the  Germans.  Pure  chimeras! 
Phrases  like  this  of  Tacitus — sentiments  and  customs  analo- 
gous to  those  of  the  Germans  of  old,  are  found  in  the  narra- 
tives of  a  host  of  writers,  who  have  seen,  or  inquired  into, 
the  manners  of  savage  and  barbarous  tribes.  There  is 
nothing  primitive,  nothing  peculiar  to  a  certain  race  in  this 
matter.  It  was  in  the  effects  of  a  very  decided  social  situa- 
tion— it  was  in  the  increase  and  preponderance  of  domestic 
manners,  that  the  importance  of  the  female  sex  in  Europe 
had  its  rise,  and  the  preponderance  of  domestic  manners  in 
Europe  very  early  became  an  essential  characteristic  in  the 
feudal  system. 

A  second  circumstance,  a  fresh  proof  of  the  influence  of 
domestic  life,  forms  a  striking  feature  in  the  picture  of  a 
feudal  family.  I  mean  the  principle  of  inheritance — the 
spirit  of  perpetuity  which  so  strongly  predominates  in  its 
character.  This  spirit  of  inheritance  is  a  natural  off-shoot 
of  the  spirit  of  family,  but  it  nowhere  took  such  deep  root 
as  in  the  feudal  system, where  it  was  nourished  by  the  nature 
of  the  property  with  which  the  family  was,  as  it  were,  in- 
corporated. The  fief  differed  from  other  possessions  in 
this,  that  it  constantly  required  a  chief,  or  owner,  who  could 
defend  it,  manage  it,  discharge  the  obligations  by  which  it 


CIVILIZATION    IN    MODERN    EUROPE.  7^ 

was  held,  and  thus  maintain  its  rank  in  the  general  associa- 
tion of  the  great  proprietors  of  the  kingdom.  There  thus 
became  a  kind  of  identification  of  the  possessor  of  the  fief 
with  the  fief  itself,  and  with  all  its  future  possessors. 

This  circumstance  powerfully  tended  to  strengthen  and 
knit  together  the  ties  of  family,  already  so  strong  by  the 
nature  of  the  feudal  system  itself. 

Quitting  the  baronial  dwellling,  let  us  now  descend  to 
the  little  population  that  surrounds  it.  Everything  here 
wears  a  different  aspect.  The  disposition  of  man  is  so  kindly 
and  good,  that  it  is  impossible  for  a  number  of  individuals  to 
be  placed  for  any  length  of  time  in  a  social  situation  without 
giving  birth  to  a  certain  moral  tie  between  them:  sentiments 
of  protection,  of  benevolence,  of  affection,  spring  up  natu- 
rally. Thus  it  happened  in  the  feudal  system.  There  can 
be  no  doubt,  but  that  after  a  certain  time,  kind  and  friendly 
feelings  would  grow  up  between  the  feudal  lord  and  his  serfs. 
This,  however,  took  place  in  spite  of  their  relative  situation, 
and  by  no  means  through  its  influence.  Considered  in  itself, 
this  situation  was  radically  vicious.  There  was  nothing 
morally  common  between  the  holder  of  the  fief  and  his  serfs. 
They  formed  part  of  his  estate;  they  were  his  property;  and 
under  this  word  property  are  comprised,  not  only  all  the 
rights  which  we  delegate  to  the  public  magistrate  to  exercise 
in  the  name  of  the  state,  but  likewise  all  those  which  we 
possess  over  private  property:  the  right  of  making  laws,  of 
levying  taxes,  of  inflicting  punishment,  as  well  as  that  of 
disposing  of  them — or  selling  them.  There  existed  not,  in 
fact,  between  the  lord  of  the  domain  and  its  cultivators,  so 
far  as  we  consider  the  latter  as  men,  either  rights,  guaran- 
tee, or  society. 

From  this  I  believe  has  risen  that  almost  universal,  invin- 
cible hatred  which  country  people  have  at  all  times  borne  to 
the  feudal  system,  to  every  remnant  of  it — to  its  very  name. 
We  are  not  without  examples  of  men  having  submitted  to 
the  heavy  yoke  of  despotism,  of  their  having  become  accus- 
tomed to  it,  nay  more,  of  their  having  freely  accepted  it. 
Religious  despotism,  monarchical  despotism,  have  more  than 
once  obtained  the  sanction,  almost  the  love,  of  the  population 
which  they  governed.  But  feudal  despotism  has  always  beei 
repulsed,  always  hateful.  It  tyrannized  over  the  destinit.-. 
of  men,  without  ruling  in  their  hearts.  Perhaps  this  may  bj 
partly  accounted  for  by  the  fact,  that,  in  religious  and  mon  - 
archical  despotism,  authority  is  always  exercised  by  virtue 


76  GENERAL    HISTORY    OF 

of  some  belief  or  opinion  common  to  both  ruler  and  sub- 
jects; he  is  the  representative,  the  minister,  of  another 
power  superior  to  all  human  powers.  He  speaks  or  acts  in 
the  name  of  Divinity  or  of  a  common  feeling,  and  not  in  the 
name  of  man  himself,  of  man  alone.  Feudal  despotism 
differed  from  this;  it  was  the  authority  of  man  over  man; 
the  domination  of  the  personal,  capricious  will  of  an  indi- 
vidual. This  perhaps  is  the  only  tyranny  to  which  man, 
much  to  his  honor,  never  will  submit.  Wherever  in  a  ruler, 
or  master,  he  sees  but  the  individual  man — the  moment  that 
the  authority  which  presses  upon  him  is  no  more  than  an 
individual,  a  human  will,  one  like  his  own,  he  feels  mortified 
and  indignant,  and  struggles  against  the  yoke  which  he  is 
compelled  to  bear.  Such  was  the  true,  the  distinctive 
character  of  the  feudal  power,  and  such  was  the  origin  of 
the  hatred  which  it  has  never  ceased  to  inspire. 

The  religious  element  which  was  associated  with  the 
feudal  power  was  but  little  calculated  to  alleviate  its  yoke. 
I  do  not  see  how  the  influence  of  the  priest  could  be  very 
great  in  the  society  which  I  have  just  described,  or  that  he 
could  have  much  success  in  legitimizing  the  connexion  be- 
tween the  enslaved  and  the  lordly  proprietor.  The  Church 
has  exercised  a  very  powerful  influence  in  the  civilization  of 
Europe;  but  then  it  has  been  by  proceeding  in  a  general 
manner — by  changing  the  general  dispositions  of  mankind. 
When  we  enter  intimately  into  the  little  feudal  society,  prop- 
erly so  called,  we  find  the  influence  of  the  priest  between 
the  baron  and  his  serfs  to  have  been  very  slight.  It  most 
frequently  happened  that  he  was  as  rude  and  nearly  as  much 
under  control  as  the  serf  himself;  and  therefore  not  very 
well  fitted,  either  by  his  position  or  talents,  to  enter  into  a 
contest  with  the  lordly  baron.  We  must,  to  be  sure,  natu- 
rally suppose,  that,  called  upon  as  he  was  by  his  office  to 
administer  and  to  keep  alive  among  these  poor  people  the 
great  moral  truths  of  Christianity,  he  became  endeared  and 
useful  to  them  in  this  respect;  he  consoled  and  instructed 
them;  but  I  believe  he  had  but  little  power  to  soften  their 
hard  condition. 

Having  examined  the  feudal  system  in  its  rudest,  its 
simplest  form;  having  placed  before  you  the  principal  conse- 
quences which  flowed  from  it,  as  respects  the  possessor  of 
the  fief  himself,  as  respects  his  family,  and  as  respects  the 
population  gathered  about  him;  let  us  now  quit  this  narrow 
'precinct.     The  population  of  the  fief  was  not  the  only  one  in 


CIVILIZATION    IN    MODERN    EUROPE.  77 

the  land:  there  were  other  societies  more  or  less  like  his  own 
of  which  he  was  a  member — with  which  he  was  connected. 
AVhat,  then,  let  us  ask,  was  the  influence  which  this  general 
society  to  which  he  belonged  might  be  expected  to  exercise 
upon  civilization? 

One  short  observation  before  we  reply:  both  the  possessor 
of  the  fief  and  the  priest,  it  is  true,  formed  part  of  a  general 
society;  in  the  distance  they  had  numerous  and  frequent 
connexions;  not  so  the  cultivators — the  serfs.  Every  time 
that,  in  speaking  of  the  ■  population  of  the  country  at  this 
period,  we  make  use  of  some  general  term,  which  seems  to 
convey  the  idea  of  one  single  and  same  society — such  for 
example  as  the  word  people — we  speak  without  truth.  For 
this  population  there  was  no  general  society — its  existence 
was  purely  local.  Beyond  the  estate  in  which  they  dwelt, 
the  serfs  had  no  relations  whatever — no  connexion  either 
with  persons,  things,  or  government.  For  them  there  existed 
no  common  destiny,  no  common  country — they  formed  not 
a  nation.  When  we  speak  of  the  feudal  association  as  a 
whole,  it  is  only  the  great  proprietors  that  are  alluded  to. 

Let  us  now  see  what  the  relations  of  the  little  feudal 
society  were  with  the  general  society  to  which  it  held,  and 
what  consequences  these  relations  may  be  expected  to  have 
led  to  in  the  progress  of  civilization. 

We  all  know  what  the  ties  were  which  bound  together  the 
posesssors  of  fiefs;  what  conditions  were  attached  to  their 
possessions;  what  were  the  obligations  of  service  on  one 
part,  and  of  protection  on  the  other.  I  shall  not  enter  into 
a  detail  of  these  obligations;  it  is  enough  for  the  present 
purpose  that  you  have  a  general  idea  of  them.  This  system, 
however,  seemed  naturally  to  pour  into  the  mind  of  every 
possessor  of  a  fief  a  certain  number  of  ideas  and  moral  senti- 
ments— ideas  of  duty,  sentiments  of  affection.  That  the 
principles  of  fidelity,  devotedness,  loaylty,  became  developed, 
and  maintained  by  the  relations  in  which  the  possessors  of 
fiefs  stood  toward  one  another,  is  evident.  The  fact  speaks 
for  itself. 

The  attempt  was  made  to  change  these  obligations,  these 
duties,  these  sentiments,  and  so  on,  into  laws  and  institu- 
tions. It  is  well  known  that  feudalism  wished  legally  to 
settle  what  services  the  possessor  of  a  fief  owed  to  his  sove- 
reign; what  services  he  had  a  right  to  expect  from  him  in 
return;  in  what  cases  the  vassal  might  be  called  upon  to 
furnish  military  or  pecuniary  aid  to  his  lord;  ip  what  way  the 


7^  GENERAL    HISTORY    OF 

lord  might  obtain  the  services  of  his  vassals,  in  those  affairs, 
in  which  they  were  not  bound  to  yield  them  by  the  mere 
possession  of  their  fiefs.  The  attempt  was  made  to  place  all 
these  rights  under  the  protection  of  institutions  founded  to 
ensure  their  respect.  Thus  the  baronial  jurisdictions  were 
•erected  to  administer  justice  between  the  possessors  of  fiefs, 
upon  complaints  duly  laid  before  their  common  suzerain. 
Thus  every  baron  of  any  consideration  collected  his  vassals 
in  parliament,  to  debate  in  common  the  affairs  which  required 
their  consent  or  concurrence.  There  was,  in  short,  a  com- 
bination of  political,  judicial,  and  military  means,  which 
show  tfie  attempt  to  organize  the  feudal  system — to  convert 
the  relations  between  the  possessors  of  fiefs  into  laws  and 
institutions. 

But  these  laws,  these  institutions,  had  no  stability — no 
guarantee. 

If  it  should  be  asked  what  is  a  political  guarantee,  I  am 
compelled  to  look  back  to  its  fundamental  character,  and  to 
state  that  this  is  the  constant  existence,  in  the  bosom  of 
society,  of  a  will,  of  an  authority  disposed  and  in  a  condition 
to  impose  a  law  upon  the  wills  and  powers  of  private  indi- 
viduals— to  enforce  their  obedience  to  the  common  rule,  to 
make  them  respect  the  general  law. 

There  are  only  two  systems  of  political  guarantees  pos- 
sible: there  must  be  either  a  will,  a  particular  power,  so 
superior  to  the  others  that  none  of  them  can  resist  it,  but  are 
obliged  to  yield  to  its  authority  whenever  it  is  interposed; 
or,  on  the  other,  a  public  will,  the  result  of  the  concurrence 
— of  the  development  of  the  wills  of  individuals,  and  which 
likewise  is  in  a  condition,  when  once  it  has  expressed  itself, 
to  make  itself  obeyed  and  respected  by  all. 

These  are  the  only  two  systems  of  political  guarantees 
possible;  the  despotism  of  one  alone,  or  of  a  body;  or  free 
government.  If  we  examine  the  various  systems,  we  shall 
find  that  they  may  all  be  brought  under  one  of  these  two. 

Well,  neither  of  these  existed,  or  could  exist,  under  the 
feudal  system. 

Without  doubt  the  possessors  of  fiefs  were  not  all  equal 
among  themselves.  There  were  some  much  more  powerful 
than  others;  and  very  many  sufficiently  powerful  to  oppress 
the  weaker.  But  there  was  none,  from  the  king,  the  first  of 
proprietors,   downward,  who  was  in  a  condition  to  impose 


CIVILIZATION    IN    MODERN    EUROPE.  79 

law  upon  all  the  others;  in  a  condition  to  make  himself 
obeyed.  Call  to  mind  that  none  of  the  permanent  means  of 
power  and  influence  at  this  time  existed^no  standing  army 
— no  regular  taxes — no  fixed  tribunals.  The  social  authori- 
ties— the  institutions,  had,  in  a  manner,  to  be  new  formed 
every  time  they  were  wanted.  A  tribunal  had  to  be  formed 
for  every  trial — an  army  to  be  formed  for  every  war — a 
revenue  to  be  formed  every  time  that  money  was  needed. 
All  was  occasional — accidental — special;  there  was  no  cen- 
tral, permanent,  independent  means  of  government.  It  is 
evident  that  in  such  a  system  no  individual  had  the  power  to 
enforce  his  will  upon  others;  to  compel  all  to  respect  and 
obey  the  general  law. 

On  the  other  hand,  resistance  was  easy,  in  proportion  as 
repression  was  difficult.  Shut  up  in  his  castle,  with  but  a 
small  number  of  enemies  to  cope  with,  and  aware  that  other 
vassals  in  a  like  situation  were  ready  to  join  and  assist  him, 
the  possessor  of  a  fief  found  but  little  difficulty  in  defending 
himself. 

It  must  then,  I  think,  be  confessed,  that  the  first  system 
of  political  guarantees — namely,  that  which  would  make  all 
responsible  to  the  strongest — has  been  shown  to  be  impos- 
sible under  the  feudal  system. 

The  other  system — that  of  free  government,  of  a  public 
power,  a  public  authority — was  just  as  impracticable.  The 
reason  is  simple  enough.  When  we  speak  now  of  a  public 
power,  of  what  we  call  the  rights  of  sovereignty — that  is,  the 
right  of  making  laws,  of  imposing  taxes,  of  inflicting  punish- 
ment, we  know,  we  bear  in  mind,  that  these  rights  belong  to 
nobody;  that  no  one  has,  on  his  own  account,  the  right  to 
punish  others,  or  to  impose  any  burden  or  law  upon  them. 
These  are  rights  which  belong  only  to  the  great  body  of 
society,  which  are  exercised  only  in  its  name;  they  arc 
emanations  from  the  people,  and  held  in  trust  for  their 
benefit.  Thus  it  happens  that  when  an  individual  is  brought 
before  an  authority  invested  with  these  rights,  the  sentiment 
that  predominates  in  his  mind,  though  perhaps  he  himself 
may  be  unconscious  of  it,  is,  that  he  is  in  the  presence  of  a 
public  legitimate  authority,  invested  with  the  power  to  com- 
mand him,  an  authority  which,  beforehand,  he  has  tacitly 
acknowledged.  This  was  by  no  means  the  case  under  the 
feudal  system.     The  possessor  of  a  fief,  within  his  domain, 


So  GENERAL    HISTORY    OF 

was  invested  with  all  the  rights  and  privileges  of  sovereignty; 
he  inherited  them  with  the  territory;  they  were  a  matter  of 
private  property.  What  are  now  called  public  rights  were 
then  private  rights;  what  are  now  called  public  authorities 
were  then  private  authorities.  When  the  possessor  of  a  fief, 
after  having  exercised  sovereign  power  in  his  own  name,  as 
proprietor  over  all  the  population  which  lived  around  him, 
attended  an  assembly,  attended  a  parliament  held  by  his 
sovereign — a  parliament  not  in  general  very  numerous,  and 
composed  of  men  of  the  same  grade,  or  nearly  so,  as  himself 
— he  did  not  carry  with  him  any  notion  of  a  public  authority. 
This  idea  was  in  direct  contradiction  to  all  about  him — to  all 
his  notions,  to  all  that  he  had  done  within  his  own  domains. 
All  he  saw  in  these  assemblies  were  men  invested  with  the 
same  rights  as  himself,  in  the  same  situation  as  himself,  act- 
ing as  he  had  done  by  virtue  of  their  own  personal  title. 
Nothing  led  or  compelled  him  to  see  or  acknowledge  in  the 
very  highest  portion  of  the  government,  or  in  the  institutions 
which  we  call  public,  that  character  of  superiority  or  gene- 
rality which  seems  to  us  bound  up  with  the  notion  of  political 
power.  Hence,  if  he  was  dissatisfied  with  its  decision,  he 
refused  to  concur  in  it,  and  perhaps  called  in  force  to 
resist  it. 

Force,  indeed,  was  the  true  and  usual  guarantee  of  right 
under  the  feudal  system,  if  force  can  be  called  a  guarantee. 
Every  law  continualy  had  recourse  to  force  to  make  itself 
respected  or  acknowedged.  No  institution  succeeded  under 
it.  This  was  so  perfectly  felt  that  institutions  were  scarcely 
ever  applied  to.  If  the  agency  of  the  baronial  courts  or 
parliaments  of  vassals  had  been  of  any  importance,  we  should 
find  them  more  generally  employed  than,  from  history,  they 
appear  to  have  been.  Their  rarity  proves  their  insignifi- 
cance. 

This  is  not  astonishing.  There  is  another  reason  for  it 
more  profound  and  decisive  than  any  I  have  yet  adduced. 

Of  all  the  systems  of  government  and  political  guarantee, 
it  may  be  asserted,  without  fear  of  contradiction,  that  the 
most  difficult  to  establish  and  render  effectual  is  the  federa- 
tive system;  a  system  which  consists  in  leaving  in  each  place 
or  province,  in  every  separate  society,  all  that  portion  of 
government  which  can  abide  there,  and  in  taking  from  it 
only  so  much  of  it  as  is  indispensable  to  a  general  society, 
in  order  to  carry  it  to  the  centre  of  this  larger  society,  and 
there  to  imbody  it  under  the  form  of  a  central  government. 
This   federative    system,   theoretically   the   most   simple,   is 


CIVILIZATION    IN    MODERN    EUROPE.  8l 

found  in  practice  the  most  complex;  for  in  order  to  reconcile 
the  degree  of  independence,  of  local  liberty,  which  is  per- 
mitted to  remain,  with  the  degree  of  general  order,  of  general 
submission,  which  in  certain  cases  it  supposes  and  exacts, 
evidently  requires  a*  very  advanced  state  of  civilization — 
requires,  indeed,  that  the  will  of  man,  that  individual  liberty, 
should  concur  in  the  establishment  and  maintenance  of  the 
system  much  more  than  in  any  other,  because  it  possesses 
less  than  any  other  the  means  of  coercion. 

The  federative  system,  then,  is  one  which  evidently 
requires  the  greatest  maturity  of  reason,  of  morality  of 
civilization  in  the  society  to  which  it  is  applied.  Yet  we 
find  that  this  was  the  kind  of  government  which  the  feudal 
system  attempted  to  establish:  for  feudalism,  as  a  whole, 
was  truly  a  confederation.  It  rested  upon  the  same  prin- 
ciples, for  example,  as  those  on  which  is  based,  in  the 
present  day,  the  federative  system  of  the  United  States  of 
America.  It  affected  to  leave  in  the  hands  of  each  great 
proprietor  all  that  portion  of  the  government,  of  sovereignty, 
which  could  be  exercised  there,  and  to  carry  to  the  suzerain, 
or  to  the  general  assembly  of  barons,  the  least  possible  por- 
tion of  power,  and  only  this  in  cases  of  absolute  necessity. 
You  will  easily  conceive  the  impossibility  of  establishing  a 
system  like  this  in  a  world  of  ignorance,  of  brute  passions, 
or,  in  a  word,  where  the  moral  condition  of  man  was  so  im- 
perfect as  under  the  feudal  system.  The  very  nature  of  such 
a  government  was  in  opposition  to  the  notions,  the  habits 
and  manners  of  the  very  man  to  whom  it  was  to  be  applied. 
How  then  can  we  be  astonished  at  the  bad  success  of  this 
attempt  at  organization? 

We  have  now  considered  the  feudal  system,  first,  in  its 
most  simple  element,  in  its  fundamental  principle;  and  then 
in  its  collective  form,  as  a  whole:  we  have  examined  it  under 
these  tVv'o  points  of  view,  in  order  to  see  what  it  did  and 
what  it  might  have  been  expected  to  do;  what  has  been  its 
influence  on  the  progress  of  civilization.  These  investiga- 
tions, I  think,  bring  us  to  this  twofold  conclusion: — 

1.  Feudalism  seems  to  have  exercised  a  great,  and,  upon 
the  whole,  a  salutary  influence  upon  the  intellectual  develop- 
ment of  individuals.  It  gave  birth  to  elevated  ideas  and 
feelings  in  the  mind,  to  moral  wants,  to  grand  developments 
of  character  and  passion. 

2,  With  regard  to  society,  it  was  incapable  of  establishing 
either  legal  order  or  political  guarantee.     In  the  wretched 


82  GENERAL    HISTORY    OF 

State  to  which  society  had  been  reduced  by  barbarism,  in 
which  it  was  incapable  of  a  more  regular  or  enlarged  form, 
the  feudal  system  seemed  indispensable  as  a  step  toward  re- 
association;  still  this  system,  in  itself  radically  vicious,  could 
neither  regulate  nor  enlarge  society.  The  only  political 
right  which  the  feudal  system  was  capable  of  exercising  in 
European  society,  was  the  right  of  resistance:  I  will  not  say 
legal  resistance,  for  there  can  be  no  question  of  legal  resist- 
ance in  a  society  so  little  advanced.  The  progress  of  society 
consists  pre-eminently  in  substituting,  on  one  hand,  public 
authority  for  private  will;  and,  on  the  other,  legal  resistance 
for  individual  resistance.  This  is  the  great  end,  the  chief 
perfection,  of  social  order;  a  large  field  is  left  to  personal 
liberty,  but  when  personal  liberty  offends,  when  it  becomes 
necessary  to  call  it  to  account,  our  only  appeal  is  to  public 
reason;  public  reason  is  placed  in  the  judge's  chair  to  pass 
sentence  on  the  charge  which  is  preferred  against  individual 
liberty.  Such  is  the  system  of  legal  order  and  of  legal  re- 
sistance. You  will  easily  perceive,  that  there  was  nothing 
bearing  any  resemblance  to  this  in  the  feudal  system.  The 
right  of  resistance,  which  was  maintained  and  practised  in 
this  system,  was  the  right  of  personal  resistance;  a  terrible 
and  anti-social  right,  inasmuch  as  its  only  appeal  is  to  brute 
force — to  war — which  is  the  destruction  of  society  itself;  a 
right,  however,  which  ought  never  to  be  entirely  erased  from 
the  mind  of  man,  because  by  its  abolition  he  puts  on  the 
fetters  of  servitude.  The  notion  of  the  right  of  resistance 
had  been  banished  from  the  Roman  community,  by  the 
general  disgrace  and  infamy  into  which  it  had  fallen,  and  it 
could  not  be  regenerated  from  its  ruins.  It  could  not,  in  my 
opinion,  have  sprung  more  naturally  from  the  principles  of 
Christian  society.  It  is  to  the  feudal  system  that  we  are 
indebted  for  its  re-introduction  among  us.  The  glory  of 
civilization  is  to  render  this  principle  for  ever  inactive  and 
useless;  the  glory  of  the  feudal  system  is  its  having  con- 
stantly professed  and  defended  it. 

Such,  if  I  am  not  widely  mistaken,  is  the  result  of  our 
investigation  of  the  feudal  community,  considered  in  itself, 
in  its  general  principles,  and  independently  of  its  historical 
progress.  If  we  now  turn  to  facts,  to  history,  we  shall  find 
it  to  have  fallen  out,  just  as  might  have  been  expected,  that 
the  feudal  system  accomplished  its  task;  that  its  destiny  has 
been  conformable  to  its  nature.  Events  may  be  adduced  in 
proof  of  all  the  conjectures,  of  all  the  inductions,  which  I 


CIVILIZATION    IN    MODERN    EUROPE.  S^ 

have  drawn  from  the  nature  and  essential  character  of  this 
system. 

Take  a  glance,  for  example,  at  the  general  history  of 
feudalism,  from  the  tenth  to  the  thirteenth  centuries,  and 
say,  is  it  not  impossible  to  deny  that  it  exercised  a  vast  and 
salutary  influence  upon  the  progress  of  individual  man — 
upon  the  development  of  his  sentiments,  his  disposition,  and 
his  ideas?  Where  can  we  open  the  history  of  this  period, 
without  discovering  a  crowd  of  noble  sentiments,  of  splendid 
achievements,  of  beautiful  developments  of  humanity,  evi- 
dently generated  in  the  bosom  of  feudal  hfe.  Chivalry, 
which  in  reality  bears  scarcely  the  least  resemblance  to 
feudalism,  was  nevertheless  its  offspring.  It  was  feudalism 
which  gave  birth  to  that  romantic  thirst  and  fondness  for  all 
that  is  noble,  generous,  and  faithful — for  that  sentiment  of 
honor,  which  still  raises  its  voice  in  favor  of  the  system  by 
which  it  was  nursed. 

But  turn  to  another  side.  Here  we  see  that  the  first 
sparks  of  European  imagination,  that  the  first  attempts  of 
poetry,  of  literature,  that  the  first  intellectual  gratifications 
which  Europe  tasted  in  emerging  from  barbarism,  sprung 
•jp  under  the  "protection,  under  the  wings,  of  feudalism.  It 
was  in  the  baronial  hall  that  they  were  born,  and  cherished, 
and  protected.  It  is  to  the  feudal  times  that  we  trace  back 
the  earliest  literary  monuments  of  England,  France,  and 
Germany,  the  earliest  intellectual  enjoyments  of  modern 
Europe. 

As  a  set-off  to  this,  if  we  question  history  respecting  the 
influence  of  feudalism  upon  the  social  system,  its  reply  is, 
though  still  in  accordance  with  our  conjectures,  that  the 
feudal  system  has  everywhere  opposed  not  only  the  estab- 
lishment of  general  order,  but  at  the  same  time  the  exten- 
sion of  general  liberty.  Under  whatever  point  of  view  we 
consider  the  progress  of  society,  the  feudal  system  always 
appears  as  an  obstacle  in  its  way.  Hence,  from  the  earliest 
existence  of  feudalism,  the  two  powers  which  have  been  the 
prime  movers  in  the  progress  of  order  and  liberty — mon- 
archical power  on  the  one  hand,  and  popular  power  on  the 
'other — that  is  to  say,  the  king  and  the  people — have  both 
attacked  it,  and  struggled  against  it  continually.  What  few 
attempts  were  made  at  different  periods  to  regulate  it,  to 
impart  to  it  somewhat  of  a  legal,  a  general  character — as  was 
done  in  England,' by  William  the  Conqueror  and  his  sons;  in 


84  GENERAL    HISTORY    OF 

France,  by  St.  Louis;  and  by  several  of  the  German  em- 
perors— all  these  endeavors,  all  these  attempts  failed.  The 
very  nature  itself  of  feudality  is  opposed  to  order  and 
legality.  In  the  last  century,  some  writers  of  talent 
attempted  to  dress  out  feudalism  as  a  social  system;  they 
endeavored  to  make  it  appear  a  legitimate,  well-ordered, 
progressive  state  of  society,  and  represented  it  as  a  golden 
age.  Ask  them,  however,  where  it  existed:  summon  them 
to  assign  it  a  locality,  and  a  time,  and  they  will  be  fouxid 
wanting.  It  is  a  Utopia  without  date,  a  drama,  for  which 
we  find,  in  the  past,  neither  theatre  nor  actors.  The  cause 
of  this  error  is  noways  difficult  to  discover;  and  it  accounts 
as  well  for  the  error  of  the  opposite  class,  who  cannot  pro- 
nounce the  name  of  feudalism  without  coupling  to  it  an 
absolute  anathema.  Both  these  parties  have  looked  at  it,  as 
the  two  knights  did  at  the  statue  of  Janus,  only  on  one  side. 
They  have  not  considered  the  two  different  points  of  view 
from  which  feudalism  may  be  surveyed.  They  do  not  dis- 
tinguish, on  one  hand,  its  influence  upon  the  progress  of  the 
individual  man,  upon  his  felings,  his  faculties,  his  disposition 
and  passions;  nor,  on  the  other,  its  influence  upon  the  social 
condition.  One  party  could  not  imagine  that  a  social  system 
in  which  were  to  be  found  so  many  noble  sentiments,  so 
many  virtues,  in  which  were  seen  sprouting  forth  the  earliest 
buds  of  literature  and  science;  in  which  manners  became 
not  only  more  refined,  but  attained  a  certain  elevation  and 
grandeur;  in  such  a  system  they  could  not  imagine  that  the 
evil  was  so  great  or  so  fatal  as  it  was  made  to  appear.  The 
other  party,  seeing  but  the  misery  which  feudalism  inflicted 
on  the  great  body  of  the  people — the  obstacles  which  it 
opposed  to  the  establishment  of  order  and  liberty — would 
not  believe  that  it  could  produce  noble  characters,  great 
virtues,  or  any  improvement  whatsoever.  Both  these  parties 
have  misunderstood  the  twofold  principle  of  civilization: 
they  have  not  been  aware  that  it  consists  of  two  movements, 
one  of  which  for  a  time  may  advance  independently  of  the 
other;  although  after  a  lapse  of  centuries,  and  perhaps  a 
long  series  of  events,  they  must  at  last  reciprocally  recall 
and  bring  forward  each  other. 

To  conclude,  feudalism,  in  its  character  and  influence, 
was  just  what  its  nature  would  lead  us  to  expect.  Indi- 
vidualism, the  energy  of  personal  existence,  was  the  prevail- 
ing principle  among  the  vanquishers  of  the  Roman  world; 
and   the   development   of  the   individual   man,  of  his  mind, 


CIVILIZATION    IN    MODERN    EUROPE.  85 

and  faculties,  might  above  all  be  expected  to  result  from  the 
social  system,  founded  by  them  and  for  them.  That  which 
man  himself  carries  into  a  social  system,  his  intellectual  moral 
disposition  at  the  time  he  enters  it,  has  a  powerful  influence 
upon  the  situation  in  which  he  establishes  himself — upon  all 
around  him.  ,  This  situation  in  its  turn  reacts  upon  his  dis- 
positions, strengthens  and  improves  them.  The  individual 
prevailed  in  German  society;  and  the  influence  of  the  feudal 
system,  the  offspiing  of  German  society,  displayed  itself  in 
the  improvement  and  advance  of  the  individual.  We  shall 
find  the  same  fact  to  recur  in  the  other  elements  of  our 
civilization:  they  all  hold  faithful  to  their  original  principle; 
they  have  advanced  and  pushed  the  world  in  that  same 
road  by  which  they  first  entered.  The  subject  of  the  next 
lecture— ^the  history  of  the  Church,  and  its  influence  upon 
European  civilization,  from  the  fifth  to  the  twelfth  century — 
will  furnish  us  with  a  new  and  striking  example  of  this 
fact. 


LECTURE    V. 

THE    CHURCH. 

Having  investigated  the  nature  and  influence  of  the 
feudal  system,  I  shall  take  the  Christian  Church,  from  the 
fifth  to  the  twelfth  centur}*,  as  the  subject  of  the  present 
lecture.  I  say  the  CJuisiian  Church,  because,  as  I  have  ob- 
served once  before,  it  is  not  about  Christianity  itself,  Chris- 
tianity as  a  religious  system,  that  I  shall  occupy  your  atten- 
tion, but  the  Church  as  an  ecclesiastical  society — the 
Christian  hierarchy. 

This  society  was  almost  completely  organized  before  the 
close  of  the  fifth  century.  Not  that  it  has  not  undergone 
many  and  important  changes  since  that  period,  but  from  this 
time  the  Church,  considered  as  a  corporation,  as  the  govern- 
ment of  the  Christian  world,  may  be  said  to  have  attained  a 
complete  and  independent  existence. 

A  single  glance  will  be  sufficient  to  convince  us  that  there 
existed,  in  the  fifth  century,  an  immense  dift'erence  between 
the  state  of  the  Church  and  that  of  the  other  elements  of 
European  civilization.  \  You  will  remember  that  I  have 
pointed  out,  as  primary  elements  of  our  civilization,  the 
municipal  system,  the  feudal  system,  monarchy,  and  the 
Church.  The  municipal  system,  in  the  fifth  century,  was  no 
more  than  a  fragment  of  the  Roman  empire,  a  shadow  with- 
out life,  or  definite  form.  The  feudal  system  was  still  a 
chaos.  Monarchy  existed  only  in  name.  All  the  civil  ele- 
ments of  modern  society  were  either  in  their  decline  or 
infancy.  The  Church  alone  possessed  youth  and  vigor;  she 
alone  possessed  at  the  same  time  a  definite  form,  with  activity 
and  strength;  she  alone  possessed  at  once  movement  and 
order,  energy  and  system,  that  is  to  say,  the  two  greatest 
means  of  influence.  Is  it  not,  let  me  ask  you,  by  mental 
vigor,  by  intellectual  movement  on  one  side,  and  by  order 
and  discipline  on  the  other,  that  all  institutions  acquire  their 
power  and  influence  over  society?  The  Church,  moreover, 
awakened  attention  to,  and  agitated  all  the  great  questions 
which  interest  man;  she  busied  herself  with   all  the   great 


CIVILIZATION    IN    MODERN    EUROPE.  87 

problems  of  his  nature,  with  all  he  had  to  hope  or  fear  for 
futurity.  Hence  her  influence  upon  modern  civilization  has 
been  so  powerful — more  powerful,  perhaps,  than  its  most 
violent  adversaries,  or  its  most  zealous  defenders,  have  sup- 
posed. They,  eager  to  advance  or  abuse  her,  have  only 
regarded  the  Church  in  a  contentious  point  of  view;  and 
with  that  contrasted  spirit  which  controversy  engenders,  how 
could  they  do  her  justice,  or  grasp  the  full  scope  of  her  sway? 
To  us,  the  Church,  in  the  fifth  century,  appears  as  an 
organized  and  independent  society,  interposed  between  the 
masters  of  the  world,  the  sovereigus,  the  possessors  of  tem- 
poral power,  and  the  people,  serving  as  a  connecting  link, 
between  them,  and  exercising  its  influence  over  all. 

To  know  and  completely  understand  its  agency,  then,  we 
must  consider  it  from  three  different  points  of  view:  we  must 
consider  it  first  in  itself — we  must  see  what  it  really  was, 
what  was  its  internal  constitution,  what  the  principles  which 
there  bore  sway,  what  its  nature.  We  must  next  consider  it 
in  its  relations  with  temporal  rulers — kings,  lords,  and  others; 
and,  finally,  in  its  relations  with  the  people.  And  when  by 
this  threefold  investigation  we  have  formed  a  com.plete  pic- 
ture of  the  Church,  of  its  principles,  its  situation,  and  the 
influence  which  it  exercised,  we  will  verify  this  picture  by 
history;  we  will  see  whether  facts,  whether  what  we  properly 
call  events,  from  the  fifth  to  the  twelfth  century,  agree  w^ith 
the  conclusions  which  our  threefold  examination  of  the 
Church,  of  its  own  nature,  of  its  relations  with  the  masters 
of  the  world,  and  with  the  people,  had  previously  led  us  to 
come  to  respecting  it. 

Let  us  first  consider  the  Churcl^in  itself,  its  internal  con- 
dition, its  own  nature. 

The  first,  and  perhaps  the  most  important  fact  that  de- 
mands our  attention  here,  i;  its  existence;  the  existence  of  a 
government  of  religion,  of  a  priesthood,  of  an  ecclesiastical 
corporation. 

In  the  opinion  of  many  enlightened  persons,  the  very 
notion  of  a  religious  corporation,  of  a  priesthood,  of  a 
government  of  religion,  is  absurd.  They  believe  that  a 
religion,  whose  object  is  the  establishment  of  a  clerical  body, 
of  a  priesthood  legally  constituted  in  short,  of  a  government 
of  religion,  must  exercise,  upon  the  whole,  an  influence  more 
dangerous  than  useful.     In  their  opinion  religion  is  a  matter 


88  GENERAL    HISTORY    OE 

purely  individual  betwixt  man  and  God;  and  that  whenever 
religion  loses  this  character,  whenever  an  exterior  authority 
interferes  between  the  individual  and  the  object  of  his  reli- 
gious belief,  that  is,  between  him  and  God,  religion  is  cor- 
rupted, and  society  in  danger. 

It  will  not  do  to  pass  by  this  question  without  taking  a 
deeper  view  of  it.  In  order  to  know  what  has  been  the 
influence  of  the  Christian  Church,  we  must  know  what  ought 
to  be,  from  the  nature  of  the  institution  itself,  the  influence 
of  a  church,  the  influence  of  a  priesthood.  To  judge  of  this 
influence  we  must  inquire  more  especially  whether  religion 
is,  in  fact,  purely  individual;  whether  it  excites  and  gives 
birth  to  nothing  beyond  this  intimate  relation  between  each 
individual  and  God;  or  whether  it  does  not,  in  fact,  neces- 
sarily become  a  source  of  new  relations  between  man  and 
man,  and  so  necessarily  lead  to  the  formation  of  a  religious 
society,  and  from  that  to  a  government  of  this  society. 

If  we  reduce  religion  to  what  is  properly  called  religious 
feeling — to  that  feeling  which,  though  very  real,  is  somewhat 
vague,  somewhat  uncertain  in  its  object,  and  which  we  can 
scarcely  characterize  but  by  naming  it — to  that  feeling  which 
addresses  itself  at  one  time  to  exterior  nature,  at  another  to 
the  inmost  recesses  of  the  soul;  to-day  to  the  imagination, 
to-morrow  to  the  mysteries  of  the  future;  which  wanders 
everywhere,  and  settles  nowhere;  which,  in  a  word,  exhausts 
both  the  world  of  matter  and  of  fancy  in  search  of  a  resting- 
place,  and  yet  finds  none — if  we  reduce  religion  to  this  feel- 
ing; then,  it  would  seem,  it  may  remain  purely  individual. 
Such  a  feeling  may  give  rise  to  a  passing  association;  it  may, 
it  will  indeed,  find  a  pleasure  in  sympathy;  it  will  feed  upon 
it,  it  will  be  strengthened  by  it;  but  its  fluctuating  and  doubt- 
ful character  will  prevenf  its  becoming  the  principle  of  per- 
manent and  extensive  association;  will  prevent  it  from 
accommodating  itself  to  any  system  of  precepts,  of  discipline, 
of  forms;  will  prevent  it,  in  a  word,  from  giving  birth  to  a 
society,  to  a  religious  government. 

But  either  I  have  strangely  deceived  myself,  or  this 
religious  feeling  does  not  comprehend  the  whole  religious 
nature  of  man.  Religion,  in  my  opinion,  is  quite  another 
thing,  and  infinitely  more  comprehensive  than  this. 

Joined  to  the  destinies  and  nature  of  man,  there  are  a 
number  of  problems  whose  solution  we  cannot  work  out  in 
the  present  life;  these,  though  connected  with  an  order  of 
things   strange   and  foreign  to  the  world  around  us,  and 


CIVILIZATION    IN    MODERN    EUROPE,  89 

apparently  beyond  the  reach  of  human  faculties,  do  not  the 
less  invincibly  torment  the  soul  of  man,  part  of  whose  nature 
it  seems  to  be,  anxiously  to  desire  and  struggle  for  the  clear- 
ing up  of  the  mystery  in  which  they  are  involved.  The 
solution  of  these  problems — the  creeds  and  dogmas  which 
contain  it,  or  at  least  are  supposed  to  contain  it — such  is  the 
first  object,  the  first  source,  of  religion. 

Another  road  brings  us  to  the  same  point.  To  those 
among  us  who  have  made  some  progress  in  the  study  of 
moral  philosophy,  it  is  now,  I  presume,  become  sufficiently 
evident,  that  morality  may  exist  independently  of  religious 
ideas;  that  the  distinction  between  moral  good  and  moral 
evil,  the  obligation  to  avoid  evil  and  to  cleave  to  that  which 
is  good,  are  laws  as  much  acknowledged  by  man,  in  his 
proper  nature,  as  the  laws  of  logic;  and  which  spring  as 
much  from  a  principle  within  him,  as  in  his  actual  life  they 
find  their  application.  But  granting  these  truths  to  be 
proved,  yielding  up  to  morality  its  independence,  a  question 
naturally  arises  ni  the  human  mind:  whence  cometh  morality, 
whither  doth  it  lead?  This  obligation  to  do  good,  which 
exists  of  itself,  is  it  a  fact  standing  by  itself,  without  author, 
without  aim?  Doth  it  not  conceal,  or  rather  doth  it  not 
reveal  to  man,  an  origin,  a  destiny,  reaching  beyond  this 
world?  By  this  question,  which  arises  spontaneously  and 
inevitably,  morality,  in  its  turn,  leads  man  to  the  porch  of 
religion,  and  opens  to  him  a  sphere  from  which  he  has  not 
borrowed  it. 

Thus  on  one  side  the  problems  of  our  nature,  on  the 
other  the  necessity  of  seeking  a  sanction,  an  origin,  an  aim, 
for  morality,  open  to  us  fruitful  and  certain  sources  of  reli- 
gion. Thus  it  presents  itself  before  under  many  other  aspects 
besides  that  of  a  simple  feeling  such  as  I  have  described.  It 
presents  itself  as  an  assemblage: 

First,  of  doctrines  called  into  existence  by  the  problems 
which  man  finds  in  himself. 

Secondly,  of  precepts  which  correspond  with  these  doc- 
trines, and  give  to  natural  morality  a  signification  and  sanc- 
tion. 

Thirdly,  and  lastly,  of  promises  which  addresses  them- 
selves to  the  hopes  of  humanity  respecting  futurity. 

This  is  truly  what  constitutes  religion.  This  is  really 
what  it  IS  at  bottom,  and  not  a  mere  form  of  sensibility,  a 
sally  of  the  imagination,  a  species  of  poetry. 


90  GENERAL    HISTORY    OF 

Religion  thus  brought  back  to  its  true  element,  to  its 
essence,  no  longer  appears  as  an  affair  purely  individual, 
but  as  a  powerful  and  fruitful  principle  of  association. 
Would  you  regard  it  as  a  system  of  opinions,  of  dogmas? 
The  answer  is,  truth  belongs  to  no  one;  it  is  universal,  abso- 
lute; all  men  are  prone  to  seek  it,  to  profess  it  in  common. 
Would  you  rest  upon  the  precepts  which  are  associated  with 
"the  doctrines?  The  reply  is,  law  obligatory  upon  one  is 
obligatory  upon  all — man  is  bound  to  promulgate  it,  to  bring 
all  under  its  authority.  It  is  the  same  with  respect  to  the 
promises  which  religion  makes  as  the  rewards  of  obedience 
to  its  faith  and  its  precepts;  it  is  necessary  they  should  be 
spread,  and  that  these  fruits  of  religion  should  be  offered  to 
all.  From  the  essential  elements  of  religion  then  is  seen  to 
spring  up  a  religious  society;  and  it  springs  from  them  so 
infallibly,  that  the  word  which  expresses  the  social  feeling 
with  the  greatest  energy,  which  expresses  our  invincible 
desire  to  propagate  ideas,  to  extend  society,  is  proselytism 
— a  term  particularly  applied  to  religious  creeds,  to  which  it 
seems  almost  exclusively  consecrated. 

A  religious  society  once  formed — when  a  certain  number 
of  men  are  joined  together  by  the  same  religious  opinions 
and  belief,  yield  obedience  to  the  same  law  of  religious  pre- 
cepts, and  are  inspired  with  the  same  religious  hopes,  they 
need  a  government.  No  society  can  exist  a  week,  no,  not 
even  an  hour,  without  a  government.  At  the  very  instant 
in  which  a  society  is  formed,  by  the  very  act  of  its  formation 
it  calls  forth  a  government,  which  proclaims  the  commom 
truth  that  holds  them  together,  which  promulgates  and  main- 
tains the  precepts  that  this  truth  may  be  expected  to  bring 
forth.  That  a  religious  society,  like  all  others,  requires  a 
controlling  power,  a  government,  is  implied  in  the  very  fact 
that  a  society  exists. 

And  not  only  is  a  government  necessary,  but  it  naturally 
arises  of  itself.  I  cannot  spare  much  time  to  show  how 
governments  rise  and  become  established  in  society  in  gen- 
eral. I  shall  only  remark,  that  when  matters  are  left  to  take 
their  natural  course,  when  no  exterior  force  is  applied  to 
drive  them  from  their  usual  route,  power  will  fall  into  the 
hands  of  the  most  capable,  of  the  most  worthy,  into  the 
hands  of  those  who  will  lead  society  on  its  way.  Are  there 
thoughts  of  a  military  expedition?  the  bravest  will  have  the 
command.  Is  society  anxious  about  some  discovery,  some 
learned  enterprise?  the  most  skillful  will  be  sought  for.     The 


CIVILIZATION    IN    MODERN    EUROPE.  9I 

same  will  take  place  in  all  other  matters.  Let  but  the  com- 
mon order  of  things  be  observed,  let  the  natural  inequality 
of  men  freely  display  itself,  and  each  will  find  the  station 
that  he  is  best  fitted  to  fill.  So  as  regards  religion,  men  will 
be  found  no  more  equal  in  talents,  in  abilities,  and  in  power, 
than  they  are  in  other  matters:  this  man  has  a  more  striking 
method  than  others  in  proclaiming  the  doctrines  of  religion 
and  making  converts;  another  has  more  power  in  enforcing 
religious  precepts;  a  third  may  excel  in  exciting  religious 
hopes  and  emotions,  and  keeping  the  soul  in  a  devout  and 
holy  frame.  The  same  inequality  of  faculties  and  of  in- 
fluence, which  gives  rise  to  power  in  civil  society,  will  be 
found  to  exist  in  religious  society.  Missionaries,  like  gen- 
erals, go  forth  to  conquer.  So  that  while,  on  the  one  hand, 
religious  government  naturally  flows  from  the  nature  of  a 
religious  society,  it  as  naturally  develops  itself,  on  the  other, 
by  the  simple  effect  of  human  faculties,  and  their  unequal 
distribtion. 

That  the  moment  that  religion  takes  possession  of  a  man 
a  religious  society  begins  to  be  formed;  and  the  moment 
this  religious  society  appears  to  give  birth  to  a  government. 

A  grave  objection,  however,  here  presents  itself:  in  this 
case  there  is  nothing  to  command,  nothing  to  impose;  no 
kind  of  force  can  here  be  legitimate.  There  is  no  place  for 
government,  because  here  the  most  perfect  liberty  ought  to 
prevail. 

Be  it  so.  But  is  it  not  forming  a  gross  and  degrading 
idea  of  government  to  suppose  that  it  resides  only,  to  suppose 
that  it  resides  chiefly,  in  the  force  which  it  exercises  to  make 
itself  obeyed,  in  its  coercive  element? 

Let  us  quit  religion  for  a  moment,  and  turn  to  civil 
governments.  Trace  with  me,  I  beseech  you,  the  simple 
march  of  circumstances.  Society  exists.  Something  is  to 
be  done,  no  matter  what,  in  its  name  and  for  its  interest; 
a  law  has  to  be  executed,  some  measure  to  be  adopted, 
a  judgment  to  be  pronounced.  Now,  certainly,  there  is  a 
proper  method  of  supplying  these  social  wants;  there  is  a 
proper  law  to  make,  a  proper  measure  to  adopt,  a  proper 
judgment  to  pronounce.  Whatever  may  be  the  matter  in 
hand,  whatever  may  be  the  interest  hi  question,  there  is, 
upon  every  occasion,  a  truth  which  must  be  discovered,  and 
which  ought  to  decide  the  matter,  and  govern  the  conduct 
to  be  adopted. 


92  GENERAL    HISTORY-  OF 

The  first  business  of  government  is  to  seek  this  truth,  is 
to  discover  what  is  just,  reasonable,  and  suitable  to  society. 
When  this  is  found,  it  is  proclaimed:  the  next  business  is  to 
introduce  it  to  the  public  mind;  to  get  it  approved  by  the 
men  upon  whom  it  is  to  act;  to  persuade  them  that  it  is 
reasonable.  In  all  this  is  there  anything  coercive?  Not  at 
all.  Suppose  now  that  the  truth  which  ought  to  decide  upon 
the  affair,  no  matter  what;  suppose,  I  say,  that  the  truth 
being  found  and  proclaimed,  all  understandings  should  be  at 
once  convinced;  all  wills  at  once  determined;  that  all  should 
acknowledge  that  the  government  was  right,  and  obey  it 
spontaneously.  There  is  nothing  yet  of  compulsion,  no 
occasion  for  the  employment  of  force.  Does  it  follow  then 
that  a  government  does  not  exist?  Is  there  nothing  of 
government  in  all  this?  To  be  sure  there  is,  and  it  has 
accomplished  its  task.  Compulsion  appears  not  till  the 
resistance  of  individuals  calls  for  it — till  the  idea,  the  deci- 
sion which  authority  has  adopted,  fails  to  obtain  the  appro- 
bation or  the  voluntary  submission  of  all.  Then  government 
employs  force  to  make  itself  obeyed.  This  is  a  necessary 
consequence  of  human  imperfection;  an  imperfection  which 
resides  as  well  in  power  as  in  society.  There  is  no  way  of 
entirely  avoiding  this;  civil  governments  will  always  be 
obliged  to  have  recourse,  to  a  certain  degree,  to  compulsion. 
Still  it  is  evident  they  are  not  made  up  of  compulsion,  be- 
cause, whenever  they  can,  they  are  glad  to  do  without  it,  to 
the  great  blessing  of  all;  and  their  highest  point  of  perfection 
is  to  be  able  to  discard  it,  and  to  trust  to  means  purely  moral, 
to  their  influence  upon  the  understanding:  so  that,  in  pro- 
portion as  government  can  dispense  with  compulsion  and 
force,  the  more  faithful  it  is  to  its  true  nature,  and  the  better 
it  fulfils  the  purpose  for  which  it  is  sent.  This  is  not  to 
shrink,  this  is  not  to  give  way,  as  people  commonly  cry  out; 
it  is  merely  acting  in  a  different  manner,  in  a  manner  much 
more  general  and  powerful.  Those  governments  which 
employ  the  most  compulsion  perform  much  less  than  those 
which  scarcely  ever  have  recourse  to  it.  Government,  by 
addressing  itself  to  the  understanding,  by  engaging  the  free- 
will of  its  subjects,  by  acting  by  means  purely  intellectual, 
instead  of  contracting,  expands  and  elevates  itself;  it  is  then 
that  it  accomplishes  most,  and  attains  to  the  grandest  ob- 
jects. On  the  contrary,  it  is  when  government  is  obliged  to 
be  constantly  employing  its  physical  arm  that  it  becomes 
weak  and  restrained — that  it  does  Httle,  and  does  that  little 
badly. 


CIVILIZATION    IN    MODERN    EUROPE. 


93 


The  essence  of  government  then  by  no  means  resides  in 
compulsion,  in  the  exercise  of  brute  force;  it  consists  more 
especially  of  a  system  of  means  and  powers,  conceived  for 
the  purpose  of  discovering  upon  all  occasions  what  is  best  to 
be  done;  for  the  purpose  of  discovering  the  truth  which  by 
right  ought  to  govern  society,  for  the  purpose  of  persuading 
all  men  to  acknowledge  this  truth,  to  adopt  and  respect  it 
willingly  and  freely.  Thus  I  think  I  have  shown  that  the 
necessity  for,  and  the  existence  of  a  government,  are  very 
conceivable,  even  though  there  should  be  no  room  for  com- 
pulsion, even  though  it  should  be  absolutely  forbidden. 

This  is  exactly  the  case  in  the  government  of  religious 
society.  There  is  no  doubt  but  compulsion  is  here  strictly 
forbidden;  there  can  be  no  doubt,  as  its  only  territory  is  the 
conscience  of  man,  but  that  every  species  of  force  must  be 
illegal,  whatever  may  be  the  end  designed.  But  government 
does  not  exist  the  less  on  this  account.  It  still  has  to  per- 
form all  the  duties  which  we  have  just  now  enumerated.  It 
is  incumbent  upon  it  to  seek  out  the  religious  doctrines 
which  resolve  the  problems  of  human  destiny;  or,  if  a 
general  system  of  faith  beforehand  exists,  in  which  these 
problems  are  already  resolved,  it  will  be  its  duty  to  discover 
and  set  forth  its  consequences  in  each  particular  case.  It 
will  be  its  duty  to  promulgate  and  maintain  the  precepts  with 
correspond  to  its  doctrines.  It  will  be  its  duty  to  preach 
them,  to  teach  them,  and,  if  society  wanders  from  them,  to 
bring  it  back  again  to  the  right  path.  No  compulsion;  but 
the  investigation,  the  preaching,  the  teaching  of  religious 
truths;  the  administering  to  religious  wants;  admonishing; 
censuring;  this  is  the  task  which  religious  government  has 
to  perform.  Suppress  all  force  and  coercion  as  much  as  you 
desire,  still  you  will  see  all  the  essential  questions  connected 
with  the  organization  of  a  government  present  themselves 
before  you,  and  demand  a  solution.  The  question,  for  ex- 
ample, whether  a  body  of  religious  magistrates  is  necessary, 
or  whether  it  is  possible  to  trust  to  the  religious  inspiration 
of  individuals?  This  question,  which  is  a  subject  of  debate 
between  most  religious  societies  and  that  of  the  Quakers,  will 
always  exist,  it  must  always  remain  a  matter  of  discussion. 
Again,  granting  a  body  of  religious  magistrates  to  be  neces- 
sary, the  question  arises  whether  a  system  of  equality  is  to 
be  preferred,  or  an  hierarchal  constitution — a  graduated 
series  of  powers?  This  question  will  not  cease  because  you 
take  from. the  ecclesiastical  magistrates,  whatever  they  may 


94  GENERAL    HISTORY    OF 

be,  all  means  of  compulsion.  Instead  then  of  dissolving 
religious  society  in  order  to  have  the  right  to  destroy  relig- 
ious government,  it  must  be  acknowledged  that  religious 
society  forms  itself  naturally,  that  religious  government  flows 
no  less  naturally  from  religious  society,  and  that  the  problem 
to  be  solved  is  on  what  conditions  this  government  ought  to 
exist,  on  what  it  is  based,  what  are  its  principles,  what  the 
conditions  of  its  legitimacy?  This  is  the  investigation  which 
the  existence  of  religious  governments  as  of  all  others,  com- 
pels us  to  undertake. 

The  conditions  of  legitimacy  are  the  same  in  the  govern- 
ment of  a  religious  society  as  in  all  others.  They  may  be 
reduced  to  two:  the  first  is,  that  authority  should  be  placed 
and  constantly  remain,  as  effectually  at  least  as  the  imper- 
fection of  all  human  affairs  will  permit,  in  the  hands  of  the 
best,  the  most  capable;  so  that  the  legitimate  superiority, 
which  lies  scattered  in  various  parts  of  society,  may  be 
thereby  drawn  out,  collected,  and  delegated  to  discover  the 
social  law — to  exercise  its  authority.  The  second  is,  that 
the  authority  thus  legitimately  constituted  should  respect 
the  legitimate  liberties  of  those  over  whom  it  is  called  to 
govern.  A  good  system  for  the  formation  and  organization 
of  authority,  a  good  system  of  securities  for  liberty,  are  the 
two  conditions  in  which  the  goodness  of  government  in 
general  resides,  whether  civil  or  religious.  And  it  is  by  this 
standard  that  all  governments  should  be  judged. 

Instead,  then,  of  reproaching  the  Church,  the  government 
of  the  Christian  world,  with  its  existence,  let  us  examine 
how  it  was  constituted,  and  see  whether  its  principles  cor- 
respond with  the  two  essential  conditions  of  all  good  govern- 
ment. 

Let  us  examine  the  Church  in  this  twofold  point  of  view. 

In  the  first  place,  with  regard  to  the  formation  and  trans- 
mission of  authority  in  the  Church,  there  is  a  word,  which 
has  often  been  made  use  of,  which  I  wish  to  get  rid  of 
altogether.  I  mean  the  word  caste.  This  word  has  been  too 
frequently  applied  to  the  Christian  clergy,  but  its  application 
to  that  body  is  both  improper  and  unjust.  The  idea  of 
hereditary  right  is  inherent  to  the  idea  of  caste.  In  every 
part  of  the  world,  in  every  country  in  which  the  system  of 
caste  has  prevailed — in  Egypt,  in  India— from  the  earliest 
time  to  the  present  day — you  will  find  that  castes  have  been 


CIVILIZATION    IN    MODERN    EUROPE.  95 

everywhere  essentially  hereditary:  they  are,  in  fact,  the 
transmission  of  the  same  rank  and  condition,  of  the  same 
power,  from  father  to  son.  Now  where  there  is  no  inherit- 
ance there  is  no  caste,  but  a  corporation.  The  esprit  de  co?'ps^ 
or  that  certain  degree  of  love  and  interest  which  every  indi- 
vidual of  an  order  feels  toward  it  as  a  whole,  as  well  as 
toward  all  its  members,  has  its  inconveniences,  but  differs 
very  essentially  from  the  spirit  of  caste.  The  celibacy  of  the 
clergy  of  itself  renders  the  application  of  this  term  to  the 
Christian  Church  altogether  improper. 

The  important  consequences  of  this  distinction  cannot 
have  escaped  you.  To  the  system  of  castes,  to  the  circum- 
stance of  inheritance,  certain  peculiar  privileges  are  neces- 
sarily attached;  the  very  definition  of  caste  implies  this. 
Where  the  same  functions,  the  same  powers  become  heredi- 
tary in  the  same  families,  it  is  evident  that  they  possess 
peculiar  privileges,  which  none  can  acquire  independently  of 
birth.  This  is  indeed  exactly  what  has  taken  place  wherever 
the  religious  government  has  fallen  into  the  hands  of  a 
caste;  it  has  become  a  matter  of  privilege;  all  were  shut  out 
from  it  but  those  who  belonged  to  the  families  of  the  caste. 
Now  nothing  like  this  is  to  be  found  in  the  Christian  Church. 
Not  only  is  the  Church  entirely  free  from  this  fault,  but  she 
has  constantly  maintained  the  principle,  that  all  men,  what- 
ever their  origin,  are  equally  privileged  to  enter  her  ranks, 
to  fill  her  highest  offices,  to  enjoy  her  proudest  dignities. 
The  ecclesiastical  career,  particularly  from  the  fifth  to  the 
twelfth  century,  was  open  to  all.  The  Church  was  recruited 
from  all  ranks  of  society,  from  the  lower  as  well  as  the 
higher — indeed,  most  frequently  from  the  lower.  When  all 
around  her  fell  under  the  tyranny  of  privilege,  she  alone 
maintained  the  principle  of  equality,  of  competition  and 
emulation;  she  alone  called  the  superior  of  all  classes  to  the 
possession  of  power.  This  is  the  first  great  consequence 
which  naturally  flowed  from  the  fact  that  the  Church  was  a 
corporation  and  not  a  caste. 

I  will  show  you  a  second.  It  is  the  inherent  nature  of 
all  castes  to  possess  a  degree  of  immobility.  This  assertion 
requires  no  proof.  Turn  over  the  pages  of  history,  and  you 
will  find  that  wherever  the  tyranny  of  castes  has  predom- 
inated, society,  whether  religious  or  political,  has  universally 
become  sluggish  and  torpid.  A  dread  of  improvement  was 
certainly  introduced  at  a  certain  epoch,  and  up  to  a  certain 
point,  into  the  Christian  Church.  But  whatever  regret  this 
may  cost  us,  it  cannot  be  said  that  this  feeling  ever  generally 


g6  GENERAL    HISTORY    OF 

prevailed.  It  cannot  be  said  that  the  Christian  Church  ever 
remained  inactive  and  stationary.  For  a  long  course  of  cen- 
turies she  was  always  in  motion;  at  one  time  pushed  forward 
by  her  opponents  without,  at  others  driven  on  by  an  inward 
impulse — by  the  want  of  reform,  or  of  interior  development. 
The  Church,  indeed,  taken  as  a  whole,  has  been  constantly 
changing — constantly  advancing — her  history  is  diversified 
and  progressive.  Can  it  be  doubted  that  she  was  indebted 
for  this  to  the  admission  of  all  classes  to  the  priestly  offices, 
to  the  continual  filling  up  of  her  ranks,  upon  a  principle  of 
equality,  by  which  a  stream  of  young  and  vigorous  blood  was 
ever  flowing  into  her  veins,  keeping  her  unceasingly  active 
and  stirring,  and  defending  her  from  the  reproach  of  apathy 
and  immobility  which  might  otherwise  have  triumphed  over 
her? 

But  how  did  the  Church,  in  admitting  all  classes  to 
power,  satisfy  herself  that  they  had  the  right  to  be  so 
admitted?  How  did  she  discover  and  proceed  in  taking 
from  the  bosom  of  society,  the  legitimate  superiorities  who 
should  have  a  share  in  her  government?  In  the  Church  two 
principles  were  in  full  vigor:  Jirst,  the  election  of  the  inferior 
by  the  superior,  which,  in  fact,  was  nothing  more  than  choice 
or  nomination;  j-<?(r^;z^/)^,  the  election  of  the  superior  by  the 
subordinates,  or  election  properly  so  called,  and  such  as  we 
conceive  to  be  election  in  the  present  day. . 

The  ordination  of  priests,  for  example,  the  power  of 
raising  a  man  to  the  priestly  office,  rested  solely  with  the 
superior.  He  alone  made  choice  of  the  candidate  for  holy 
orders.  The  case  was  the  same  in  the  collation  to  certain 
ecclesiastical  benefices,  such  as  those  attached  to  feudal 
grants,  and  some  others;  it  was  the  superior,  whether  king, 
pope,  or  lord,  who  nominated  to  the  bench.  In  other  cases 
the  true  principle  of  election  prevailed.  The  bishops  had 
been,  for  a  long  time,  and  were  still,  often,  in  the  period  under 
consideration,  elected  by  the  inferior  clergy;  even  the  people 
sometimes  took  part  in  them.  In  monasteries  the  abbot  was 
elected  by  the  monks.  At  Rome,  the  pope  was  elected  by 
the  college  of  cardinals;  and,  at  an  earlier  date,  even  all  the 
Roman  clergy  had  a  voice  in  his  election.  You  may  here 
clearly  observe,  then,  the  two  principles,  the  choice  of  the 
inferior  by  the  superior,  and  the  election  of  the  superior  by 
the  subordinates;  which  were  admitted  and  acted  upon  in 
the  Church,  particularly  at  the  period  which  now  engages  our 
attention.     It  was  by  one  of  these  two  mean?  that  men  were 


CIVILIZATION    IN    MODERN    EUROPE. 


97 


appointed  to  the  various  offices  in  the  Church,  or  obtained 
any  portion  of  ecclesiastical  authority. 

These  two  principles  were  not  only  in  operation  at  the 
same  time,  but  being  altogether  opposite  in  their  nature,  a 
constant  struggle  prevailed  between  them.  After  a  strife 
for  centuries,  after  many  vicissitudes,  the  nomination  of  the 
inferior  by  the  superior  gained  the  day  in  the  Christian 
Church.  Yet,  from  the  fifth  to  the  twelfth  century,  the 
opposite  principle,  the  election  of  the  superior  by  the  subor- 
dinates, continued  generally  to  prevail. 

We  must  not  be  astonished  at  the  co-existence  of  these 
two  opposite  principles.  If  we  look  at  society  in  general,  at 
the  common  course  of  affairs,  at  the  manner  in  which 
authority  is  there  transmitted,  we  shall  find  that  this  trans- 
mission is  sometimes  effected  by  one  of  these  modes,  and 
sometimes  the  other.  The  Church  did  not  invent  them,  she 
found  them  in  the  providential  government  of  human  things, 
and  borrowed  them  from  it.  There  is  somewhat  of  truth, 
of  utility,  in  both.  Their  combination  would  often  prove 
the  best  mode  of  discovering  legitimate  power.  It  is  a  great 
misfortune,  in  my  opinion,  that  only  one  of  them,  the  choice 
of  the  inferior  by  the  superior,  should  have  been  victorious 
in  the  Church.  The  second,  however,  was  never  entirely 
banished,  but  under  various  names,  with  more  or  less  suc- 
cess, has  re-appeared  in  every  epoch,  with  at  least  sufficient 
force  to  protest  against,  and  interrupt,  prescription. 

The  Christian  Church,  at  the  period  of  which  we  are 
speaking,  derived  an  immense  force  from  its  respect  for 
equality  and  the  various  kinds  of  legitimate  superiority.  It 
was  the  most  popular  society  of  the  time — the  most  accessi- 
ble: it  alone  opened  its  arms  to  all  the  talents,  to  all  the 
ambitiously  noble  of  our  race.  To  this,  above  all,  it  owed 
its  greatness,  at  least  certainly  much  more  than  to  its  riches, 
and  the  illegitimate  means  which  it  but  too  often  employed. 

With  regard  to  the  second  condition  of  a  good  govern- 
ment, namely,  a  respect  for  liberty,  that  of  the  Church 
leaves  much  to  be  desired. 

Two  bad  principles  here  met  together.  One  avowed, 
forming  part  and  parcel,  as  it  were,  of  the  doctrines  of  the 
Church;  the  other,  in  no  way  a  legitimate  consequence  of 
her  doctrines,  was  introduced  into  her  bosom  by  human 
weakness. 

The  first  was  a  denial  of  the  rights  of  individual  reason 


98  GENERAL    HISTORY    OF 

— the  claim  of  transmitting  points  of  faith  from  the  highest 
authority,  downward,  throughout  the  whole  religious  body, 
without  allowing  to  any  one  the  right  of  examining  them  for 
himself.  But  it  was  more  easy  to  lay  this  down  as  a  prin- 
ciple than  to  carrry  it  out  in  practice;  and  the  reason  i-s 
obvious,  for  a  conviction  cannot  enter  into  the  human  mind 
unless  the  human  mind  first  opens  the  door  to  it;  it  cannot 
enter  by  force.  In  whatever  way  it  may  present  itself,  w4iat- 
ever  name  it  may  invoke,  reason  looks  to  it,  and  if  it  forces 
an  entrance,  it  is  because  reason  is  satisfied.  Thus  indi- 
vidual reason  has  always  continued  to  exist,  and  under  what- 
ever name  it  may  have  been  disguised,  has  always  considered 
and  reflected  upon  the  ideas  which  have  been  attempted  to 
be  forced  upon  it.  Still,  however,  it  must  be  admitted  but 
as  too  true,  that  reason  often  becomes  impaired;  that  she 
loses  her  power,  becomes  mutilated  and  contracted — that  she 
may  be  brought  not  only  to  make  a  sorry  use  of  her  faculties, 
but  to  make  a  more  limited  use  of  them  than  she  ought  to 
do.  So  far  indeed  the  bad  principle  which  crept  into  the 
Church  took  effect,  but  with  regard  to  the  practical  and 
complete  operation  of  this  principle,  it  never  took  place — it 
was  impossible  it  ever  should. 

The  second  vicious  principle  was  the  right  of  compulsion 
assumed  by  the  Romish  Church;  a  right,  however,  contrary 
to  the  very  nature  and  spirit  of  religious  society,  to  the  origin 
of  the  Church  itself,  and  to  its  primitive  maxims.  A  right, 
too,  disputed  by  some  of  the  most  illustrious  fathers  of  the 
Church— by  St.  Ambrose,  St.  Hilary,  St.  Martin— but  whch, 
nevertheless,  prevailed  and  became  an  important  feature  in 
its  history.  The  right  it  assumed  of  forcing  belief,  if  these 
two  words  can  stand  together,  or  of  punishing  faith  physic- 
ally, of  persecuting  heresy,  that  is  to  say,  a  contempt  for  the 
legitimate  liberty  of  human  thought,  was  an  error  which 
found  its  way  into  the  Romish  Church  before  the  beginning 
of  the  fifth  century,  and  has  in  the  end  cost  her  very  dear. 

If  then  we  consider  the  state  of  the  Church  with  regard 
to  the  liberty  of  its  members,  we  must  confess  that  its  prin- 
ciples in  this  respect  were  less  legitimate,  less  salutary,  than 
those  which  presided  at  the  rise  and  formation  of  ecclesiasti- 
cal power.  It  must  not,  however,  be  supposed,  that  a  bad 
principle  radically  vitiates  an  institution;  nor  even  that  it 
does  it  all  the  mischief  of  which  it  is  pregnant.  Nothing 
tortures  history  more  than  logic.  No  sooner  does  the  human 
mind  seize  upon  an  idea,  than  it  draws  from  it  all  its  possible 
consequences;  makes  it  produce,  in  imagination,  all  that  it 


CIVILIZATION    IN    MODERN    EUROPE.  99 

would  in  reality  be  capable  of  producing,  and  then  figures  it 
down  in  history  with  all  the  extravagant  additions  which 
itself  has  conjured  up.  This,  however,  is  nothing  like  the 
truth.  Events  are  not  so  prompt  in  their  consequences,  as 
the  human  mind  in  its  deductions.  There  is  in  all  things  a 
mixture  of  good  and  evil,  so  profound,  so  inseparable,  that, 
in  whatever  part  you  penetrate,  if  even  you  descend  to  the 
lowest  elements  of  society,  or  into  the  soul  itself,  you  will 
there  find  these  two  principles  dwelling  together,  developing 
themselves  side  by  side,  perpetually  struggling  and  quarrel- 
ling with  each  other,  but  neither  of  them  ever  obtaining  a 
complete  victory,  or  absolutely  destroying  its  fellow.  Human 
nature  never  reaches  to  the  extreme  either  of  good  or  evil. 
It  passes,  without  ceasing,  from  one  to  the  other;  it  recovers 
itself  at  the  moment  when  it  seems  lost  forever  It  slips  and 
loses  ground  at  the  moment  when  it  seems  to  have  assumed 
the  firmest  position. 

We  again  discover  here  that  character  of  discordance,  of 
diversity,  of  strife,  to  which  I  formerly  called  your  attention, 
as  the  fundamental  character  of  European  civilization. 
Besides  this,  there  is  another  general  fact  which  character- 
izes the  government  of  the  Church,  which  we  must  not  pass 
over  without  notice.  In  the  present  day,  when  the  idea  of 
government  presents  itself  to  our  mind,  we  know,  of  what- 
ever kind  it  may  be,  that  it  will  scarcely  pretend  to  any 
authority  beyond  the  outward  actions  of  men,  beyond  the 
civil  relations  between  man  and  man.  Governments  do  not 
profess  to  carry  their  rule  further  than  this.  With  regard 
to  human  thought,  to  the  human  conscience,  to  the  intellec- 
tual powers  of  man:  with  regard  to  individual  opinions,  to 
private  morals — with  these  they  do  not  interfere:  this  would 
be  to  invade  the  domain  of  liberty. 

The  Christian  Church  did,  and  was  bent  upon  doing, 
exactly  the  contrary.  What  she  undertook  to  govern  was 
the  human  thought,  human  liberty,  private  morals,  individual 
opinions.  She  did  not  draw  up  a  code  like  ours,  which  took 
account  only  of  those  crimes  that  are  at  the  same  time  offen- 
sive to  morals  and  dangerous  to  society,  punishing  them  only 
when,  and  becau'^e,  they  bore  this  twofold  character;  but 
prepared  a  catalogue  of  all  those  actions,  criminal  more  par- 
ticularly in  a  moral  point  of  view,  and  punished  them  all 
under  the  name  of  sins.  Her  aim  was  their  entire  suppres- 
sion. In  a  word,  the  government  of  the  Church  did  not,  like 
our  modern  governments,  direct  her  attention  to  the  outw;a-d 


lOO  GENERAL    HISTORY    OF 

man,  or  to  the  purely  civil  relations  of  men  among  them- 
selves; she  addressed  herself  to  the  inward  man,  to  the 
thought,  to  the  conscience;  in  fact,  to  that  which  of  ail 
things  is  most  hidden  and  secure,  most  free,  and  which 
spurns  the  least  restraint.  The  Church,  then,  by  the  very 
nature  of  its  undertaking,  combined  with  the  nature  of  some 
of  the  principles  upon  which  its  government  was  founded, 
stood  in  great  peril  of  falling  into  tyranny;  of  an  illegitimate 
employment  of  force.  In  the  meantime,  this  force  was  en- 
countered by  a  resistance  within  the  Church  itself,  which  it 
could  never  overcome.  Human  thought  and  liberty,  how- 
ever fettered,  however  confined  for  room  and  space  in  which 
to  exercise  their  faculties,  oppose  with  so  much  energy  every 
attempt  to  enslave  them,  that  their  reaction  makes  even 
despotism  itself  to  yield,  and  give  up  something  every 
moment.  This  took  place  in  the  very  bosom  of  the  Christian 
Church.  We  have  seen  heresy  proscribed — the  right  of 
free  inquiry  condemned;  a  contempt  shown  for  individual 
reason,  the  principle  of  the  imperative  transmission  of  doc- 
trines by  human  authority  established.  And  yet  where  can 
we  find  a  society  in  which  individual  reason  more  boldly 
developed  itself  than  in  the  Church?  What  are  sects  and 
•heresies,  if  not  the  fruit  of  individual  opinions?  These  sects, 
these  heresies,  all  these  oppositions  which  arose  in  the  Chris- 
tian Church,  are  the  most  decisive  proof  of  the  life  and  moral 
activity  which  reigned  within  her:  a  life  stormy,  painful, 
sown  with  perils,  with  errors  and  crimes — yet  splendid  and 
mighty,  and  which  has  given  place  to  the  noblest  develop- 
ments of  intelligence  and  mind.  But  leaving  the  opposition, 
and  looking  to  the  ecclesiastical  government  itself — how  does 
the  case  stand  here?  You  will  find  it  constituted,  you  will 
find  it  acting,  in  a  manner  quite  opposite  to  what  you  would 
expect  from  some  of  its  principles.  It  denies  the  right  of 
inquiry,  it  wishes  to  deprive  individual  reason  of  its  liberty; 
yet  it  appeals  to  reason  incessantly;  practical  liberty  actually 
predominates  in  its  affairs.  What  are  its  institutions,  its 
means  of  action?  Provincial  councils,  national  councils, 
general  councils;  a  perpetual  correspondence,  a  perpetual 
publication  of  letters,  of  admonitions,  of  writings.  No 
government  ever  went  so  far  in  discussions  and  open  delib- 
erations. One  might  fancy  one's  self  in  the  midst  of  the 
philosophical  schools  of  Greece.  But  it  was  not  here  a  mere 
discussion,  it  was  not  a  simple  search  after  truth  that  here 
occupied  the  attention;  it  was  questions  of  authority,  of 
measures- to- be  taken,  of  decrees  to  be  drawn  up,,  in  short. 


CIVILIZATION    IN    MODERN    EUROPE.  101 

the  business  of  a  government.  Such  indeed  was  the  energy 
of  intellectual  life  in  the  bosom  of  this  government,  that  it 
became  its  predominant,  universal  character;  to  this  all 
others  gave  way;  and  that  which  shone  forth  from  all  its 
parts,  was  the  exercise  of  reason  and  liberty. 

I  am  far,  notwithstanding  all  this,  from  believing  that 
the  vicious  principles,  which  I  have  endeavored  to  explain, 
and  which,  in  my  opinion,  existed  in  the  Christian  Church, 
existed  there  without  producing  any  effect.  In  the  period 
now  under  review,  they  already  bore  very  bitter  fruits;  at  a 
later  period  they  bore  others  still  more  bitter;  still  they  did 
not  produce  all  the  evils  which  might  have  been  expected, 
they  did  not  choke  the  good  which  sprang  up  in  the  same 
soil.  Such  was  the  Church  considered  in  itself,  in  its  in- 
terior, in  its  own  nature. 

Let  us  now  consider  it  in  its  relations  with  sovereigns, 
with  the  holders  of  temporal  authority.  This  is  the  second 
point  of  view  in  which  I  have  promised  to  consider  it. 

When  at  the  fall  of  the  western  empire,  when,  instead  of 
the  ancient  Roman  government,  under  which  the  Church 
had  been  born,  under  which  she  had  grown  up,  with  which 
she  had  common  habits  and  old  connexions,  she  found  her- 
self surrounded  by  barbarian  kings,  by  barbarian  chieftains, 
wandering  from  place  to  place,  or  shut  up  in  their  castles, 
with  whom  she  had  nothing  in  common,  between  whom 
and  her  there  was  as  yet  no  tie — neither  traditions,  nor 
creeds,  nor  feelings;  her  danger  appeared  great,  and  her 
fears  were  equally  so. 

One  only  idea  became  predominant  in  the  Church;  it  was 
to  take  possession  of  these  new-comers — to  convert  them. 
The  relations  of  the  Church  with  the  barbarians  had,  at  first, 
scarcely  any  other  aim. 

To  gain  these  barbarians,  the  most  effective  means 
seemed  to  be  to  dazzle  their  senses  and  work  upon  their 
imagination.  Thus  it  came  to  pass  that  the  number,  pomp, 
and  variety  of  religious  ceremonies  were  at  this  epoch  won- 
derfully increased.  The  ancient  chronicles  particularly  show, 
that  it  was  principally  in  this  way  that  the  Church  worked  upon 
the  barbarians.     She  converted  them  by  grand  spectacles. 

But  even  when  they  had  become  settled  and  converted, 
even  after  the  growth  of  some  common  ties   between  them, 


102  GENERAL    HISTORY    OF" 

the  danger  of  the  Church  was  not  over.  The  brutality,  the 
unthinking,  the  unreflecting  character  of  the  barbarians 
were  so  great,  that  the  new  faith,  the  new  feehngs  with 
which  they  had  been  inspired,  exercised  but  a  very  shght 
empire  over  them.  When  every  part  of  society  fell  a  prey 
to  violence,  the  Church  could  scarcely  hope  altogether  to 
escape.  To  save  herself  she  announced  a  principle,  which 
had  already  been  set  up,  though  but  very  vaguely,  under  the 
empire;  the  separation  of  spiritual  and  temporal  power,  and 
their  mutual  independence.  It  was  by  the  aid  of  this  prin- 
ciple that  the  Church  dwelt  freely  by  the  side  of  the  bar- 
barians; she  maintained  that  force  had  no  authority  over 
religious  belief,  hopes,  or  promises,  and  that  the  spiritual 
and  temporal  worlds  are  completely  distinct. 

You  cannot  fail  to  see  at  once  the  beneficial  consequences 
which  have  resulted  from  this  principle.  Independently  of 
the  temporary  service  it  was  of  to  the  Church,  it  has  had  the 
inestimable  effect  of  founding  in  justice  the  separation  of 
the  two  authorities,  of  preventing  one  from  controlling  the 
other.  In  addition  to  this,  the  Church,  by  asserting  the  in- 
dependence of  the  intellectual  world,  in  its  collective  form, 
prepared  the  independence  of  the  intellectual  world  in  indi- 
viduals— the  independence  of  thought.  The  Church  de- 
clared that  the  system  of  religious  belief  could  not  be 
brought  under  the  yoke  of  force,  and  each  individual  has 
been  led  to  hold  the  same  language  for  himself.  The  prin- 
ciple of  free  inquiry,  the  liberty  of  individual  thought,  is 
exactly  the  same  as  that  of  the  independence  of  the  spiritual 
authority  in  general,  with  regard  to  temporal  power. 

The  desire  for  liberty,  unfortunately,  is  but  a  step  from 
the  desire  for  power.  The  Church  soon  passed  from  one  to 
the  other.  When  she  had  established  her  mdependence,  it 
was  in  accordance  with  the  natural  course  of  ambition  that 
she  should  attempt  to  raise  her  spiritual  authority  above 
temporal  authority.  We  must  not,  however,  suppose  that 
this  claim  had  any  other  origin  than  the  weaknesses  of  human- 
ity; some  of  these  are  very  profound,  and  it  is  of  importance 
that  they  should  be  known. 

When  liberty  prevails  in  the  intellectual  world,  when  the 
thoughts  and  consciences  of  men  are  not  enthralled  by  a 
power  which  calls  in  question  their  right  of  deliberating,  of 
deciding,  and  employs  its  authority  against  them;  when  there 
is  no  visible  constituted  spiritual  government  laying  claim  to 
the  right  of  dictating  opinions:  in  such  circumstances,  the 


CIVILIZATION    IN    MODERN    EUROPE.  I03 

idea  of  the  domination  of  the  spiritual  order  over  the  tem- 
poral could  scarcely  spring  up.  Such  is  very  nearly  the 
present  state  of  the  world.  But  when  there  exists,  as  there 
did  in  the  tenth  century,  a  government  of  the  spiritual  order; 
when  the  human  thought  and  conscience  are  subject  to  cer- 
tain laws,  to  certain  institutions,  to  certain  authorities,  which 
have  arrogated  to  themselves  the  right  to  govern,  to  constrain 
them;  in  short,  when  spiritual  authority  is  established,  when 
it  has  e.ffectively  taken  possession,  in  the  name  of  right  and 
power,  of  the  human  reason  and  conscience,  it  is  natural  that 
it  should  go  on  to  assume  a  domination  over  the  temporal 
order;  that  it  should  argue:  "  What!  have  I  a  right,  have  I 
an  authority  over  that  which  is  most  elevated,  most  indepen- 
dent in  man — over  his  thoughts,  over  his  interior  will,  over 
his  conscience;  and  have  I  not  a  right  over  his  exterior,  his 
temporal  and  material  interests?  Am  I  the  interpreter  of 
divine  justice  and  truth,  and  yet  not  able  to  regulate  the 
affairs  of  this  world  according  to  justice  and  truth?" 

The  force  of  this  reasoning  shows  that  the  spiritual  order 
had  a  natural  tendency  to  encroach  on  the  temporal.  This 
tendency  was  increased  by  the  fact,  that  the  spiritual  order, 
at  this  time,  comprised  all  the  intelligence  of  the  age,  every 
possible  development  of  the  human  mind.  There  was  but 
one  science,  theology;  but  one  spiritual  order,  the  theological: 
all  the  other  sciences,  rhetoric,  arithmetic,  and  even  music, 
centred  in  theology. 

The  spiritual  power,  finding  itself  thus  in  possession  of 
all  the  intelligence  of  the  age,  at  the  head  of  all  intellectual 
activity,  was  naturally  enough  led  to  arrogate  to  itself  the 
general  government  of  the  world. 

A  second  cause,  which  very  much  favored  its  views,  was 
the  dreadful  state  of  the  temporal  order,  the  violence  and 
inquity  which  prevailed  in  all  temporal  governments. 

For  some  centuries  past  men  might  speak,  with  a  degree 
of  confidence,  of  temporal  power;  but  temporal  power,  at 
the  epoch  of  which  we  are  speaking,  was  mere  brutal  force, 
a  system  of  rapine  and  violence.  The  Church,  however  im- 
perfect might  be  her  notions  of  morality  and  justice,  was 
infinitely  superior  to  a  temporal  government  such  as  this; 
and  the  cry  of  the  people  continually  urged  her  to  take  its 
place. 

When  a  pope  or  bishop  proclaimed  that  a  sovereign  had 
lost  his  rights,  that  his  subjects  were  released  from  their  oath 


104  GENERAL    HISTORY    OF 

of  fidelity,  this  interference,  though  undoubtedly  liable  to 
the  greatest  abuses,  was  often,  in  the  particular  case  to  which 
it  was  directed,  just  and  salutary.  It  generally  holds,  in- 
deed, that  where  liberty  is  wanting,  religion,  in  a  great 
measure,  supplies  its  place.  In  the  tenth  century,  the  op- 
pressed nations  were  not  in  a  state  to  protect  themselves,  to 
defend  their  rights  against  civil  violence — religion,  in  the 
name  of  Heaven,  placed  itself  between  them.  This  is  one 
of  the  causes  which  most  contributed  to  the  success  of  the 
usurpations  of  the  Church. 

There  is  a  third  cause,  which,  in  my  opinion,  has  not 
been  sufficiently  noticed.  This  is  the  manifold  character  and 
situation  of  the  leaders  of  the  Church;  the  variety  of  aspects 
under  which  they  appeared  in  society.  On  one  side  they 
were  prelates,  members  of  the  ecclesiastical  order,  a  portion 
of  the  spiritual  power,  and  as  such  independent;  on  the 
other,  they  were  vassals,  and  by  this  title  formed  one  of  the 
links  of  civil  feudalism.  But  this  was  not  all:  besides  being 
vassals,  they  were  also  subjects.  Something  similar  to  the 
ancient  relations  in  which  the  bishops  and  clergy  had  stood 
toward  the  Roman  emperors  now  existed  between  the  clergy 
and  the  barbarian  sovereigns.  A  series  of  causes,  which  it 
would  be  tedious  to  detail,  had  brought  the  bishops  to  look 
upon  the  barbarian  kings,  to  a  certain  degree,  as  the  succes- 
sors of  the  Roman  emperors,  and  to  attribute  to  them  the 
same  rights.  The  heads  of  the  clergy  then  had  a  threefold 
character:  first,  they  were  ecclesiastics,  and  as  such  held  to 
the  performance  of  certain  duties;  secondly,  they  were  feudal 
vassals,  with  the  rights  and  obligations  of  such;  thirdly,  they 
were  mere  subjects,  and  as  such  bound  to  render  obedience 
to  an  absolute  sovereign.  Observe  the  necessary  conse- 
quences of  this.  The  temporal  sovereigns,  no  whit  less 
covetous,  no  whit  less  ambitious  than  the  bishops,  frequently 
made  use  of  their  temporal  power,  as  superiors  or  sovereigns, 
to  attack  the  independence  of  the  Church,  to  usurp^the  right 
of  collating  to  benefices,  of  nominating  to  bishoprics,  and 
so  on.  On  the  other  side,  the  bishops  often  sheltered  them- 
selves under  their  spiritual  independence  to  refuse  the  per- 
formance of  their  obligations  as  vassals  and  subjects;  so  that 
on  both  sides  there  was  an  inevitable  tendency  to  trespass 
on  the  rights  of  the  other:  on  the  side  of  the  sovereigns,  to 
destroy  spiritual  independence;  on  the  side  of  the  heads  of 
the  Church,  to  make  their  spiritual  independence  the  means 
of  universal  dominion. 


CIVILIZATION    IN    MODERN    EUROPE.  IO5 

This  result  showed  itself  sufficie-ntly  plain  in  events  well 
known  to  you  all;  in  the  quarrel  respecting  investitures;  in 
the  struggle  between  the  Holy  See  and  the  empire.  The 
threefold  character  of  the  heads  of  the  Church,  and  the 
difficulty  of  preventing  them  from  trespassing  on  one  an- 
other, was  the  real  cause  of  the  uncertainty  and  strife  of  all 
its  pretensions. 

Finally,  the  Church  had  a  third  connexion  with  the  sove- 
reigns, and  it  was  to  her  the  most  disastrous  and  fatal.  She 
laid  claim  to  the  right  of  coercion,  to  the  right  of  restraining 
and  punishing  heresy.  But  she  had  no  means  by  which  to 
do  this;  she  had  no  physical  force  at  her  disposal:  when  she 
had  condemned  the  heretic,  she  was  without  the  power  to 
carry  her  sentence  into  execution.  What  was  the  conse- 
quence? She  called  to  her  aid  the  secular  arm;  she  had  to 
borrow  the  power  of  the  civil  authority  as  the  means  of  com- 
pulsion. To  what  a  wretched  shift  was  she  thus  driven  by 
the  adoption  of  the  wicked  and  detestable  principles  of  coer- 
cion and  persecution! 

I  must  stop  here.  There  is  not  sufficient  time  for  us  to 
finish  our  investigation  of  the  Church.  We  have  still  to 
consider  its  relation  with  the  people,  the  principles  which 
prevailed  in  its  intercourse  with  them,  and  what  consequences 
resulted  from  its  bearing  upon  civilization  in  general.  I 
shall  afterward  endeavor  to  confirm  by  history,  by  facts,  by 
what  befell  the  Church  from  the  fifth  to  the  twelfth  century, 
the  inductions  which  we  have  drawn  from  the  nature  of  her 
institutions  and  principles. 


LECTURE    VI. 

THE    CHURCH. 

In  the  present  lecture  we  shall  conclude  our  inquiries 
respecting  the  state  of  the  Church.  In  the  last,  I  stated  that 
I  should  place  it  before  you  in  three  principal  points  of  view: 
first,  in  itself — in  its  interior  constitution  and  nature,  as  a 
distinct  and  independent  society;  secondly,  in  its  relations 
with  sovereigns,  with  temporal  power;  thirdly,  in  its  rela- 
tions with  the  people.  Having  then  been  able  to  accomplish 
no  more  than  the  first  two  parts  of  my  task,  it  remains  for 
me  to-day  to  place  before  you  the  Church  in  its  relations 
with  the  people.  I  shall  endeavor,  after  I  have  done  this, 
to  sum  up  this  threefold  examination,  and  to  give  a  general 
judgment  respecting  the  influence  of  the  Church  from  the 
fifth  to  the  twelfth  century;  finally,  I  shall  close  this  part  of 
my  subject  by  verifying  my  statements  by  an  appeal  to  facts, 
by  an  examination  of  the  history  of  the  Church  during  this 
period. 

You  will  easily  understand  that,  in  speaking  of  the  rela- 
tions of  the  Church  with  the  people,  I  shall  be  obliged  to 
confine  myself  to  very  general  views.  It  is  impossible  that 
I  should  enter  into  a  detail  of  the  practices  of  the  Church, 
or  recount  the  daily  intercourse  of  the  clergy  with  their 
charge.  It  is  the  prevailing  principles,  and  the  great  effects 
of  the  system  and  conduct  of  the  Church  toward  the  body  of 
Christians,  that  I  shall  endeavor  to  bring  before  you. 

A  striking  feature,  and,  I  am  bound  to  say,  a  radical  vice 
in  the  relations  of  the  Church  with  the  people,  was  the 
separation  of  the  governors  and  the  governed,  which  left  the 
governed  without  any  influence  upon  their  government, 
which  established  the  independence  of  the  clergy  with  re- 
spect to  the  general  body  of  Christians. 

It  would  seem  as  if  this  evil  was  called  forth  by  the  state 
of  man  and  society,  for  it  was  introduced  into  the  Christian 
Church  at  a  very  early  period.  The  separation  of  the  clergy 
and  the  people  was  not  altogether  perfected  at  the  time  of 
which  we  are  speaking;  there  were  certain  occasions — the 


CIVILIZATION    IN    MODERN    EUROPE.  I07 

election  of  bishops,  for  example — upon  which  the  people,  at 
least  sometimes,  took  part  in  Church  government.  This  in- 
terference, however,  became  weaker  and  weaker,  as  well  as 
more  rare;  even  in  the  second  century  it  had  begun  rapidly 
and  visibly  to  decline.  Indeed,  the  tendency  of  the  Church 
to  detach  itself  from  the  rest  of  society,  the  establishment  of 
the  independence  of  the  clergy,  forms,  to  a  great  extent,  the 
history  of  the  Church  from  its  very  cradle. 

It  is  impossible  to  disguise  the  fact,  that  from  this  cir- 
cumstance sprang  the  greater  number  of  abuses,  which, 
from  this  period,  cost  the  Church  so  dear;  as  well  as  many 
others  which  entered  into  her  system  in  after-times.  We 
must  not,  however,  impute  all  its  faults  to  this  principle,  nor 
must  we  regard  this  tendency  to  isolation  as  peculiar  to  the 
Christian  clergy.  There  is  in  the  very  nature  of  religious 
society  a  powerful  inclination  to  elevate  the  governors  above 
the  governed;  to  regard  them  as  something  distinct,  some- 
thing divine.  This  is  the  effect  of  the  mission  with  which 
the)'  are  charged;  of  the  character  in  which  they  appear 
before  the  people.  This  effect,  however,  is  more  hurtful  in 
a  religious  society  than  in  any  other.  For  with  what  do 
they  pretend  to  interfere?  With  the  reason  and  conscience 
and  future  destiny  of  man:  that  this  to  say,  with  that  which 
is  the  closest  locked  up;  with  that  which  is  most  strictly  in- 
dividual, with  that  which  is  most  free.  We  can  imagine 
how,  up  to  a  certain  point,  a  man,  whatever  ill  may  result 
from  it,  may  give  up  the  direction  of  his  temporal  affairs  to 
an  outward  authority.  We  can  conceive  a  nation  of  that 
philosopher  who,  when  one  told  him  that  his  house  was  on 
fire,  said,  "  Go  and  tell  my  wife;  I  never  meddle  with  house- 
hold affairs."  But  when  our  conscience,  our  thoughts,  our 
intellectual  existence  are  at  stake — to  give  up  the  govern- 
ment of  one's  self,  to  deliver  over  one's  very  soul  to  the 
authority  of  a  stranger,  is,  indeed,  a  moral  suicide:  is,  in- 
deed, a  thousand  times  worse  than  bodily  servitude — than  to 
become  a  mere  appurtenance  of  the  soil. 

Such,  nevertheless,  was  the  evil  which,  without  ever,  as 
I  shall  presently  show,  completely  prevailing,  invaded  more 
and  more  the  Christian  Church  in  its  relations  with  the  peo- 
ple. We  have  already  seen,  that  even  in  the  bosom  of  the 
Church  itself,  the  lower  orders  of  the  clergy  had  no  guarantee 
for  their  liberty;  it  was  much  worse,  out  of  the  Church,  for 
the  laity.  Among  churchmen  there  was  at  least  discussion, 
deliberation,  the  display  of  individual  faculties;  the  struggle, 


Io8  GENERAL    HISTORY    OF 

itself,  supplied  in  some  measure  the  place  of  liberty.  There 
was  nothing,  however,  like  this  between  the  clergy  and  the 
people.  The  laity  had  no  further  share  in  the  government 
of  the  Church  than  as  simple  lookers-on.  Thus  we  see 
quickly  shoot  up  and  thrive,  the  idea  that  theology,  that 
religious  questions  and  affairs,  were  the  privileged  territory 
of  the  clergy;  that  the  clergy  alone  had  the  right,  not  only 
to  decide  upon  all  matters  respecting  it,  but  likewise  that 
they  alone  had  the  right  to  study  it,  and  that  the  laity  ought 
not  to  intermeddle  with  it.  At  the  period  of  which  we  are 
now  speaking,  this  theory  had  fully  established  its  authority, 
and  it  has  required  ages,  and  revolutions  full  of  terror,  to 
overcome  it;  to  restore  to  the  public  the  right  of  debating 
religious  questions,  and  inquiring  into  their  truths. 

In  principle,  then,  as  well  as  in  fact,  the  legal  separation 
of  the  clergy  and  the  laity  was  nearly  completed  before  the 
twelfth  century. 

It  must  not,  however,  be  understood,  that  the  Christian 
world  had  no  influence  upon  its  government  during  this 
period.  Of  legal  interference  it  was  destitute,  but  not  of 
influence.  It  is,  indeed,  almost  impossible  that  such  should 
be  the  case  under  any  kind  of  government,  and  more  par- 
ticularly so  of  one  founded  upon  the  common  opinions  and 
belief  of  the  governing  and  governed.  For,  wherever  this 
community  of  ideas  springs  up  and  expands,  wherever  the 
same  intellectual  movement  carries  onward  for  government 
and  the  people,  there  necessarily  becomes  formed  between 
them  a  tie,  which  no  vice  in  their  organization  can  ever  alto- 
gether break.  To  make  you  clearly  understand  what  I 
mean,  I  will  give  you  an  example,  familiar  to  us  all,  taken 
from  the  political  world.  At  no  period  in  the  history  of 
France  had  the  French  nation  less  power  of  a  legal  nature,  I 
mean  by  way  of  institutions,  of  interfering  in  the  govern- 
ment, than  in  the  seventeenth  and  eighteenth  centuries,  dur- 
ing the  reigns  of  Louis  XIV.  and  XV.  All  the  direct  and 
official  means  by  which  the  people  could  exercise  any 
authorit}'#iad  been  cut  off  and  suppressed.  Yet  there  can- 
not be  a  doubt  but  that  the  public,  the  country,  exercised, 
at  this  time,  more  influence  upon  the  government  than  at 
any  other,  more,  for  example,  than  when  the  states-general 
had  been  frequently  convoked;  than  when  the  parliaments 
intermeddled  to  a  considerable  extent  in  politics,  than  when 
the  people  had  a  much  greater  legal  participation  in  the 
government. 


■   CIVILIZATION    IN    MODERN    EUROPE.  ^6^ 

It  must  have  been  observed  by  all  that  there  exists  a 
power  which  no  law  can  comprise  or  suppress,  and  which, 
in  times  of  need,  goes  even  further  than  institutions.  Call 
it  the  spirit  of  the  age,  public  intelligence,  opinion,  or  what 
you  will,  you  cannot  doubt  its  existence.  In  France,  during 
the  seventeenth  and  eighteenth  centuries,  this  public  opinion 
was  more  powerful  than  at  any  other  epoch;  and,  though  it 
was  deprived  of  the  legal  means  of  acting  upon  the  govern- 
ment, yet  it  acted  indirectly,  by  the  force  of  ideas  common 
to  the  governing  and  the  governed,  by  the  absolute  necessity 
under  which  the  governing  found  themselves  of  attending  to 
the  opinions  of  the  governed.  What  took  place  in  the 
Church  from  the  fifth  to  the  twelfth  century  was  very  similar 
to  this.  The  body  of  the  Christian  world,  it  is  true,  had  no 
legal  means  of  expressing  its  desires;  but  there  was  a  great 
advancement  of  mind  in  religious  matters:  this  movement 
bore  along  clergy  and  laity  together,  and  in  this  way  the 
people  acted  upon  the  Church. 

It  is  of  the  greatest  importance  that  these  indirect  influ- 
ences should  be  kept  in  view  in  the  study  of  history.  They 
are  much  more  efficacious,  and  often  more  salutary,  than  we 
take  them  to  be.  It  is  very  natural  that  men  should  wish 
their  influence  to  be  prompt  and  apparent;  that  they  should 
covet  the  credit  of  promoting  success,  of  establishing  power, 
of  procuring  triumph.  But  this  is  not  always  either  possible 
or  useful.  There  are  times  and  situations  when  the  indirect, 
unperceived  influence  is  more  beneficial,  more  practicable. 
Let  me  borrow  another  illustration  from  politics.  We  know 
that  the  English  parliament  more  than  once,  and  particularly 
in  1641,  demanded,  as  many  other  popular  assemblies  have 
done  in  such  cases,  the  power  to  nominate  the  ministers  and 
great  officers  of  the  crown.  The  immense  direct  force  which 
by  this  means  it  would  exercise  upon  the  government  was 
regarded  as  a  precious  guarantee.  But  how  has  it  turned 
out?  Why,  in  the  few  cases  in  which  it  has  been  permitted 
to  possess  this  power,  the  result  has  been  always  unfavorable. 
The  choice  has  been  badly  concerted;  affairs  badly  con- 
ducted. But  what  is  the  case  in  the  present  day?  Is  it  not 
the  influence  of  the  two  houses  of  parliament  which  deter- 
mines the  choice  of  ministers,  and  the  nomination  to  all  the 
great  offices  of  state?  And,  though  this  influence  be  indirect 
and  general,  it  is  found  to  work  better  than  the  direct  inter- 
ference of  parliament,  which  has  always  terminated  badly. 

There  is  one  reason  why  this  should  be  so,  which  I  must 
beg  leave  to  lay  before  you,  at  the  expense  of  a  few  minutes 


no  GENERAL    HISTORY    OF 

of  your  time.  The  direct  action  upon  government  supposes 
those  to  whom  it  is  confided  possessed  of  superior  talents — 
of  superior  information,  understanding,  and  prudence.  As 
they  go  to  the  object  at  once,  and/<?;'  saltern  as  it  were,  they 
must  be  sure  not  to  miss  their  mark.  Indirect  influences,  on 
the  contrary,  pursuing  a  tortuous  course — only  arriving  at 
their  object  through  numerous  difficulties — become  rectified 
and  adapted  to  their  end  by  the  very  obstacles  they  have  to 
encounter.  Before  they  can  succeed,  they  must  undergo 
discussion,  be  combated  and  controlled;  their  triumph  is 
slow,  conditional,  and  partial.  It  is  on  this  account  that 
where  society  is  not  sufficiently  advanced  to  make  it  prudent 
to  place  immediate  power  in  the  hands  of  the  people,  these 
indirect  influences,  though  often  insufficient,  are  neverthe- 
less to  be  preferred.  It  was  by  such  that  the  Christian 
world  acted  upon  its  government; — acted,  I  must  allow,  very 
inadequately — by  far  too  little;  but  still  it  is  something  that 
it  acted  at  .all. 

There  was  another  thing  which  strengthened  the  tie 
between  the  clergy  and  laity.  This  was  the  dispersion  of 
the  clergy  into  every  part  of  the  social  system.  In  almost 
all  other  cases,  where  a  church  has  been  formed  independent 
of  the  people  whom  it  governed,  the  body  of  priests  has  been 
composed  of  men  in  nearly  the  same  condition  of  life.  I  do 
not  mean  that  the  inequalities  of  rank  were  not  sufficiently 
great  among  them,  but  that  the  power  was  lodged  in  the 
hands  of  colleges  of  priests  living  in  common,  and  governing 
the  people  submitted  to  their  laws  from  the  innermost  recess 
of  some  sacred  temple.  The  organization  of  the  Christian 
Church  was  widely  different.  From  the  thatched  cottage  of 
the  husbandman — from  the  miserable  hut  of  the  serf  at  the 
foot  of  the  feudal  chateau  to  the  palace  of  the  monarch — 
there  was  everywhere  a  clergyman.  This  diversity  in  the 
situation  of  the  Christian  priesthood,  their  participation  in 
all  the  varied  fortunes  of  humanity — of  common  life — was  a 
great  bond  of  union  between  the  laity  and  clergy;  a  bond 
which  has  been  wanting  in  most  other  hierarchies  invested 
with  power.  Besides  this,  the  bishops,  the  heads  of  the 
Christian  clergy,  were,  as  we  have  seen,  mixed  up  with  the 
feudal  system:  they  were,  at  the  same  time,  members  of  the 
civil  and  of  the  ecclesiastical  governments.  This  naturally 
led  to  similarity  of  feeling,  of  interests,  of  habits,  and  of 
manners,  in  the  clergy  and  laity.  There  has  been  a  good 
deal   said,  and  with   reason,  of  military  bishops,  of  priests 


Civilization  in  modern  Europe.  iiI 

who  led  secular  lives;  but  we  may  be  assured  that  this  evil, 
however  great,  was  not  so  hurtful  as  the  system  which  kept 
priests  forever  locked  up  in  a  temple,  altogether  separated 
from  common  life.  Bishops  who  took  a  share  in  the  cares, 
and,  up  to  a  certain  point,  in  the  disorders  of  civil  life,  were 
of  more  use  in  society  than  those  who  were  altogether  stran- 
gers to  the  people,  to  their  wants,  their  affairs,  and  their 
manners.  In  our  system  there  has  been,  in  this  respect,  a 
similarity  of  fortune,  of  condition,  which,  if  it  have  not  alto- 
gether corrected,  has,  at  least,  softened  the  evil  which  the 
separation  of  the  governing  and  governed  must  in  all  cases 
prove. 

Now,  having  pointed  out  this  separation,  having  endeav- 
ored to  determine  its  extent,  let  us  see  how  the  Christian 
Church  governed — let  us  see  in  what  way  it  acted  upon  the 
people  under  its  authority. 

What  did  it  do,  on  one  hand,  for  the  development  of 
man,  for  the  intellectual  progress  of  the  individual? 

What  did  it  do,  on  the  other,  for  the  melioration  of  the 
social  system.? 

What  regard  to  individual  development,  I  fear  the 
Church,  at  this  epoch,  gave  herself  but  little  trouble  about 
it.  She  endeavored  to  soften  the  rugged  manners  of  the 
great,  and  to  render  them  more  kind  and  just  in  their  conduct 
toward  the  weak.  She  endeavored  to  inculcate  a  life  of 
morality  among  the  poor,  and  to  inspire  them  with  higher 
sentiments  and  hopes  than  the  lot  in  which  they  were  cast 
would  give  rise  to.  I  believe  not,  however,  that  for  indi- 
vidual man — for  the  drawing  forth  or  advancement  of  his 
capacities — that  the  Church  did  much,  especially  for  the 
laity,  during  this  period.  What  she  did  in  this  way  was 
confined  to  the  bosom  of  her  own  society.  For  the  develop- 
ment of  the  clergy,  for  the  instruction  of  the  priesthood,  she 
was  anxiously  alive:  to  promote  this  she  had  her  schools, 
her  colleges,  and  all  other  institutions  which  the  deplorable 
state  of  society  would  permit.  These  schools  and  colleges, 
it  is  true,  were  all  theological,  and  destined  for  the  education 
of  the  clergy  alone;  and  though,  from  the  intimacy  between 
the  civil  and  religious  orders,. they  could  not  but  have  some 
influence  upon  the  rest  of  the  world,  it  was  very  slow  and 
indirect.     It  cannot,  indeed,  be  denied  but  the  Church,  too, 


ifi  GENERAL    HISTORY    OF 

necessarily  excited  and  kept  alive  a  general  activity  of  mind, 
by  the  career  which  she  opened  to  all  those  whom  she  judged 
worthy  to  enlist  into  her  ranks,  but  beyond  this  she  did  little 
for  the  intellectual  improvement  of  the  laity. 

For  the  melioration  of  the  social  state  her  labors  were 
greater  and  more  efficacious. 

She  combated  with  much  perseverance  and  pretinacity 
the  great  vices  of  the  social  condition,  particularly  slavery. 
It  has  been  frequently  asserted  that  the  abolition  of  slavery 
in  the  modern  world  must  be  altogether  carried  to  the  credit 
of  Christianity.  I  believe  this  is  going  too  far:  slavery  sub- 
sisted for  a  long  time  in  the  bosom  of  Christian  society 
without  much  notice  being  taken  of  it — without  any  great 
outcry  against  it.  To  effect  its  abolition  required  the  co- 
operation of  several  causes — a  great  development  of  new 
ideas,  of  new  principles  of  civilization.  It  cannot,  however, 
be  denied  that  the  Church  employed  its  influence  to  restrain 
it;  the  clergy  in  general,  and  especially  several  popes,  en- 
forced the  manumission  of  their  slaves  as  a  duty  incumbent 
upon  laymen,  and  loudly  inveighed  against  the  scandal  of 
keeping  Christians  in  bondage.  Again,  the  greater  part  of 
the  forms  by  which  slaves  were  set  free,  at  various  epochs, 
are  founded  upon  religious  motives.  It  is  under  the  impres- 
sion of  some  religious  feeling — the  hopes  of  the  future,  the 
equality  of  all  Christian  men,  and  so  on — that  the  freedom 
of  the  slave  is  granted.  These,  it  must  be  confessed,  are 
rather  convincing  proofs  of  the  influence  of  the  Church,  and 
of  her  desire  for  the  abolition  of  this  evil  of  evils,  this  iniquity 
of  iniquities! 

The  Church  did  not  labor  less  worthily  for  the  improve- 
ment of  civil  and  criminal  legislation.  We  know  to  what  a 
terrible  extent,  notwithstanding  some  few  principles  of 
liberty,  this  was  absurd  and  wretched;  we  have  read  of  the 
irrational  and  superstitious  proofs  to  which  the  barbarians 
occasionally  had  recourse — their  trial  by  battle,  their  ordeals, 
their  oaths  of  compurgation — as  the  only  means  by  which 
they  could  discover  the  truth.  To  replace  these  by  more 
rational  and  legitimate  proceedings,  the  Church  earnestly 
labored,  and  labored  not  in  vain.  I  have  already  spoken  of 
the  striking  difference  between  the  laws  of  the  Visigoths, 
mostly  promulgated  by  the  councils  of  Toledo,  and  the 
codes  of  the   barbarians.     It  is  impossible  to  compare  them 


CIVILIZATION    IN    MODERN    EUROPE,  II3 

without  at  once  admitting  the  immense  superiority  of  the 
notions  of  the  Church  in  matters  of  jurisprudence,  justice, 
and  legislation — in  all  relating  to  the  discovery  of  truth,  and 
a  knowledge  of  human  nature.  It  must  certainly  be  admitted 
that  the  greater  part  of  these  notions  were  borrowed  from 
Roman  legislation;  but  it  is  not  less  certain  that  they  would 
have  perished  if  the  Church  had  not  preserved  and  defended 
them — if  she  had  not  labored  to  spread  them  abroad.  If 
the  question,  for  example,  is  respecting  the  employment  of 
oaths,  open  the  laws  of  the  Visigoths,  and  see  with  what 
prudence  it  controls  their  use: — 

Let  the  judge,  in  order  to  come  at  the  truth,  first  interrogate  the 
witnesses,  then  examine  the  papers,  and  not  allow  of_oaths  too  easily. 
The  investigation  of  truth  and  justice  demands,  that  the  documents  on 
both  sides  should  be  carefully  examined,  and  that  the  necessity  of  the 
oath,  suspended  over  the  head  of  both  parties,  should  only  come  unex- 
pectedly. Let  the  oath  only  be  adopted  in  causes  in  which  the  judge 
shall  be  able  to  discover  no  written  documenjs,  no  proof,  nor  guide  to 
the  truth. 

In  criminal  matters,  the  punishment  is  proportioned  to 
the  offense,  according  to  tolerably  correct  notions  of  phi- 
losophy, morals,  and  justice;  the  efforts  of  an  enlightened 
legislator  struggling  against  the  violence  and  caprice  of  bar- 
barian manners.  The  title  of  c(Ede  et  inorte  hominum  gives 
us  a  very  favorable  example  of  this,  when  compared  with 
the  corresponding  laws  of  the  other  nations.  Among  the 
latter,  it  is  the  damage  alone  which  seems  to  constitute  the 
crime;  and  the  punishment  is  sought  for  in  the  pecuniary 
preparation  which  is  made  in  compounding  for  it;  but  in  the 
code  of  the  Visigoths  the  crime  is  traced  to  its  true  and 
moral  principle — the  intention  of  the  perpetrator.  Various 
shades  of  guilt — involuntary  homicide,  chance-medley  homi- 
cide, justifiable  homicide,  unpremeditated  homicide,  and 
wilful  murder — are  distinguished  and  defined  nearly  as  accu- 
ra4ely  as  in  our  modern  codes;  the  punishments  likewise 
varying,  so  as  to  make  a  fair  approximation  to  justice.  The 
legislator,  indeed,  carried  the  principle  of  justice  still  further. 
He  endeavored,  if  not  to  abolish,  at  least  to  lessen,  that 
difference  of  legal  value,  which  the  other  barbarian  laws  put 
upon  the  life  of  man.  The  only  distinction  here  made  was 
between  the  freeman  and  the  slave.  With  regard  to  the 
freeman,  the  punishment  did  not  vary  either  according  to  the 
perpetrator,  or  according  to  the  rank  of  the  slain,  but  only 
according  to  the  moral  guilt  of  the  murderer.     With  regard 


114  GENERAL    HISTORY    OF 

to  slaves,  not  daring  entirely  to  deprive  masters  of  the  right 
of  life  and  death,  he  at  least  endeavored  to  restrain  it  and 
destroy  its  brutal  character  by  subjecting  it  to  an  open  and 
regular  procedure. 

The  law  itself  is  worthy  of  attention,  and  I  therefore 
shall  give  it  at  at  length: — 

"If  no  one  who  is  culpable,  or  the  accomplice  in  a  crime,  ought  to 
go  unpunished,  how  much  more  reasonable  is  it  that  those  should  be 
restrained  who  commit  suicide  maliciously,  or  from  a  slight  cause  ! 
Thus,  as  masters  in  their  pride  often  put  their  slaves  to  death  without 
any  cause,  it  is  proper  to  extirpate  altogether  this  license,  and  to  decree 
that  the  present  law  shall  be  for  ever  binding  upon  all.  No  master  or 
mistress  shall  have  power  to  put  to  death  any  of  their  slaves,  male  or 
female,  or  any  of  their  dependants,  without  public  judgment.  If  any 
slave,  or  other  servant,  commits  a  crime  which  renders  them  subject  to 
capital  punishment,  his  master  or  his  accuser  shall  immediately  give 
information  to  the  judge,  or  count,  or  duke,  of  the  place  in  which  the 
crime  has  been  perpetrated.  After  the  matter  has  been  tried,  if  the 
crime  is  proved,  let  the  criminal  receive,  either  by  the  judge  or  by  his 
own  master,  the  sentence  of  death  which  he  has  merited  ;  in  such  man- 
ner, however,  that  if  the  judge  desires  not  to  put  the  accused  to  death, 
he  must  draw  up  against  him  in  writing,  a  capital  sentence,  and  then 
it  will  remain  with  his  master  to  kill  him  or  grant  him  his  life.  But 
when,  indeed,  a  slave,  by  a  fatal  audacity,  in  resisting  his  master,  shall 
strike,  or  attempt  to  strike  him  with  his  arm,  with  a  stone,  or  by  any 
other  means,  and  the  master,  in  defending  himself,  kills  the  slave  in 
his  anger,  the  master  shall  in  nowise  be  liable  to  the  punishment  of 
homicide.  But  it  will  be  necessary  to  prove  that  the  fact  has  so  hap- 
pened, and  that  by  the  testimony  or  oath  of  the  slaves,  male  or  female, 
who  witnessed  it,  and  also  by  the  oath  of  the  person  himself  who  com- 
mitted the  deed.  Whosoever  from  pure  malice  shall  kill  a  slave  him- 
self, or  employ  another  to  do  so,  without  his  having  been  publicly 
tried,  shall  be  considered  infamous,  shall  be  declared  incapable  of  giv- 
ing evidence,  shall  be  banished  for  life,  and  his  property  given  to  his 
nearest  heirs."— {For.  Jud.  L.  VI.,  tit.  V.,  i.  12.) 

There  is  another  circumstance  connected  with  the  insti- 
tutions of  the  Church,  which  has  not,  in  general,  been  so 
much  noticed  as  it  deserves.  I  allude  to  its  penitentiary 
system,  which  is  the  more  interesting  in  the  present  day, 
because,  so  far  as  the  principles  and  applications  of  moral 
law  are  concerned,  it  is  almost  completely  in  unison  with  the 
notions  of  modern  philosophy.  If  we  look  closely  into  the 
nature  of  the  punishments  inflicted  by  the  Church  at  public 
penance,  which  was  its  principle  mode  of  punishing,  we  shall 
find  that  their  object  was,  above  all  other  things,  to  excite 
repentance  in  the  soul  of  the  guilty;  in  that  of  the  lookers-on, 
the  moral  terror  of  example.  But  there  is  another  idea  which 
mixes  itself  up   with  this — the   idea  of  expiation.     I   know 


CIVILIZATION    IN    MODERN    EUROPE.  II5 

not,  generally  speaking,  whether  it  be  possible  to  separate 
the  idea  of  punishment  from  that  of  expiation;  and  whether 
there  be  not  in  all  punishment,  independently  of  the  desire 
to  awaken  the  guilty  to  repentance,  and  to  deter  those  from 
vice  who  might  be,  under  temptation,  a  secret  and  imperious 
desire  to  expiate  the  wrong  committed.  Putting  this  ques- 
tion, however,  aside,  it  is  sufficiently  evident  that  repentance 
and  example  were  the  objects  proposed  by  the  Church  in 
every  part  of  its  system  of  penance.  And  is  not  the  attain- 
ment of  these  very  objects  the  end  of  every  truly  philosophi- 
cal legislation?  Is  it  not  for  the  sake  of  these  very  principles 
that  the  most  enlightened  lawyers  have  clamored  for  a 
reform  in  the  penal  legislation  of  Europe?  Open  their  books 
— those  of  Jeremy  Bentham  for  example — and  you  will  be 
astonished  at  the  numerous  resemblances  which  you  will 
everywhere  find  between  their  plans  of  punishment  and  those 
adopted  by  the  Church.  We  may  be  quite  sure  that  they 
have  not  borrowed  them  from  her;  and  the  Church  could 
scarcely  foresee  that  her  example  would  one  day  be  quoted 
in  support  of  the  system  of  philosophers  not  very  remarkable 
for  their  devotion. 

Finally,  she  endeavored  by  every  means  in  her  power  to 
suppress  the  frequent  recourse  which  at  this  period  was  had 
to  violence  and  the  continual  wars  to  which  society  was  so 
prone.  It  is  well  known  what  the  truce  of  God  was,  as  well 
as  a  number  of  other  similar  measures  by  which  the  Church 
hoped  to  prevent  the  employment  of  physical  force,  and  to 
introduce  into  the  social  system  more  order  and  gentleness. 
The  facts  under  this  head  are  so  well  known,  that  I  shall 
not  go  into  any  detail  concerning  them. 

Having  now  run  over  the  principal  points  to  which  I 
wished  to  draw  attention  respecting  the  relations  of  the 
Church  to  the  people;  having  now  considered  it  under  the 
three  aspects,  which  I  proposed  to  do,  we  know  it  within 
and  without;  in  its  interior  constitution,  and  in  its  twofold 
relations  with  society.  It  remains  for  us  to  deduce  from 
what  we  have  learned  by  way  of  inference,  by  way  of  con- 
jecture, its  general  influence  upon  European  civilization. 
This  is  almost  done  to  our  hands.  The  simple  recital  of 
the  facts  of  the  predominant  principles  of  the  Church,  both 
reveals  and  explains  its  influence:  the  results  have  in  a 
manner  been  brought  before  us  with  the  causes.  If,  how- 
ever, we  endeavor  to  sum  them  up,  we  shall  be  led,*I  think, 
to  two  general  conclusions. 


Il6  CKXERAL    HISTORY    OF 

The  fist  is,  that  the  Church  has  exercised  a  vast  and  im- 
portant influence  upon  the  moral  and  intellectual  order  of 
Europe;  upon  the  notions,  sentiments,  and  manners  of  so- 
ciety. This  fact  is  evident;  the  intellectual  and  moral  pro- 
gress of  Europe  has  been  essentially  theological.  Look  at 
its  history  from  the  fifth  to  the  sixteenth  century,  and  you 
will. find  throughout  that  theology  has  possessed  and  directed 
the  human  mind;  every  idea  is  impressed  with  theology; 
every  question  that  has  been  started,  whether  philosophical, 
political,  or  historical,  has  been  considered  in  a  religious 
point  of  view.  So  powerful,  indeed,  has  been  the  authority 
of  the  Church  in  matters  of  intellect,  that  even  the  mathe- 
matical and  physical  sciences  have  been  obliged  to  submit  to 
its  doctrines.  The  spirit  of  theology  has  been  as  it  were  the 
blood  which  has  circulated  in  the  veins  of  the  European 
world  down  to  the  time  of  Bacon  and  Descartes.  Bacon  in 
England,  and  Descartes  in  France,  were  the  first  who  carried 
the  human  mind  out  of  the  pale  of  theology. 

We  shall  find  the  same  fact  hold  if  we  travel  through  the 
regions  of  literature:  the  habits,  the  sentiments,  the  language 
of  theology  there  show  themselves  at  eveVy  step. 

This  influence,  taken  altogether,  has  been  salutary.  It 
not  only  kept  up  and  ministered  to  the  intellectual  move- 
ment in  Europe,  but  the  system  of  doctrines  and  precepts, 
by  whose  authority  it  stamped  its  impress  upon  that  move- 
ment, was  incalculably  superior  to  any  which  the  ancient 
world  had  known. 

The  influence  of  the  Church,  moreover,  has  given  to  the 
development  of  the  human  mind,  in  our  modern  world,  an 
extent  and  variety  which  it  never  possessed  elsewhere.  In 
the  east,  intelligence  was  altogether  religious:  among  the 
Greeks,  it  was  almost  exclusively  human:  there  human  cul- 
ture— humanity,  properly  so  called,  its  nature  and  destiny — 
actually  disappeared;  here  it  was  man  alone,  his  passions, 
his  feelings,  his  present  interests,  which  occupied  the  field. 
In  our  world  the  spirit  of  religion  mixes  itself  with  all,  but 
excludes  nothing.  Human  feelings,  human  interests,  occupy 
a  considerable  space  in  every  branch  of  our  literature;  yet 
the  religious  character  of  man,  that  portion,  of  his  being 
which  connects  him  with  another  world,  appears  at  every 
turn  in  them  all.  Could  modern  intelligence  assume  a  visible 
shape  we  should  recognize  at  once,  in  its  mixed  character, 
the  finger  of  man  and  the  finger  of  God.  Thus  the  two 
great  sources  of  human  development,  humanity  and  religion, 
have  been  open  at  the  same  time  and  flowed  in  plenteous 


CIVILIZATION    IN    MODERN    EUROPE.  ""liy 

streams.  Notwithstanding  all  the  evil,  all  the  abuses, 
which  may  have  crept  into  the  Church — notwithstanding  all 
the  acts  of  tyranny  of  which  she  has  been  guilty,  we  must 
still  acknowledge  her  influence  upon  the  progress  and  cul- 
ture of  the  human  intellect  to  have  been  beneficial;  that  she 
has  assisted  in  its  development  rather  than  its  compression, 
in  its  extension  rather  than  its  confinement. 

The  case  is  widely  different  when  we  look  at  the  Church 
in  a  political  point  of  view.  By  softening  the  rugged  man- 
ners and  sentiments  of  the  people;  by  raising  her  voice 
against  a  great  number  of  practical  barbarisms,  and  doing 
what  she  could  to  expel  them,  there  is  no  doubt  but  the 
Church  largely  contributed  to  the  melioration  of  the  social 
condition;  but  with  regard  to  politics,  properly  so  called, 
with  regard  to  all  that  concerns  the  relations  between  the 
governing  and  the  governed — between  power  and  liberty — I 
cannot  conceal  my  opinion,  that  its  influence  has  been  bane- 
ful. In  this  respect  the  Church  has  always  shown  herself  as 
the  interpreter  and  defender  of  two  systems,  equally  vicious, 
that  is,  of  theocracy,  and  of  the  imperial  tyranny  of  the  Roman 
empire — that  is  to  say,  of  despotism,  both  religious  and  civil. 
Examine  all  its  institutions,  all  its  laws;  peruse  its  canons, 
look  at  its  procedure,  and  you  will  everywhere  find  the 
maxims  of  theocracy  or  the  empire  to  predominate.  In  her 
weakness,  the  Church  sheltered  herself  under  the  absolute 
power  of  the  Roman  emperors;  in  her  strength  she  laid  claim 
to  it  herself,  under  the  name  of  spiritual  power.  We  must 
not  here  confine  ourselves  to  a  few  particular  facts.  The 
Church  has  often,  no  doubt,  set  up  and  defended  the  rights 
of  the  people  against  the  bad  government  of  their  rulers; 
often,  indeed,  has  she  approved  and  excited  insurrection; 
often  too  has  she  maintained  the  rights  and  interests  of  the 
people  in  the  presence  of  their  sovereigns.  But  when  the 
question  of  political  securities  came  into  debate  between 
power  and  liberty;  when  any  step  was  taken  to  establish  a 
system  of  permanent  institutions,  which  might  effectually 
protect  liberty  from  the  invasions  of  power  in  general;  the 
Church  always  ranged  herself  on  the  side  of  despotism. 

This  should  not  astonish  us,  neither  should  we  be  too 
ready  to  attribute  it  to  any  particular  failing  in  the  clergy, 
or  to  any  particular  vice  in  the  Church.  There  is  a  more 
profound  and  powerful  cause. 

What  is  the  object  of  religion?  of  ajiy  religion,  true  or 
false?    It  is  to  govern  the  human  passions,  the  human  will. 


Il8  GENERAL    HISTORY    OF 

All  religion  is  a  restraint,  an  authority,  a  government.  It 
comes  in  the  name  of  a  divine  law,  to  subdue,  to  mortify 
human  nature.  It  is  then  to  human  liberty  that  it  directly 
opposes  itself.  It  is  human  liberty  that  resists  it,  and  that 
it  wishes  to  overcome.  This  is  the  grand  object  of  religion, 
its  mission,  its  hope. 

But  while  it  is  with  human  liberty  that  all  religions  have 
to  contend,  while  they  aspire  to  reform  the  will  of  man, 
they  have  no  means  by  which  they  can  act  upon  him — they 
have  no  moral  power  over  him,  but  through  his  own  will,  his 
liberty.  When  they  make  use  of  exterior  means,  when  they 
resort  to  force,  to  seduction — in  short,  make  use  of  means 
opposed  to  the  free  consent  of  man,  they  treat  him  as  we 
treat  water,  wind,  or  any  power  entirely  physical:  they  fail 
in  their  object;  they  attain  not  their  end;  they  do  not  reach, 
they  cannot  govern  the  will.  Before  religions  can  really 
accomplish  their  task,  it  is  necessary  that  they  should  be 
accepted  by  the  free-will  of  man:  it  is  necessary  that  man 
should  submit,  but  it  must  be  willingly  and  freely,  and  that 
he  still  preserves  his  liberty  in  the  midst  of  this  submission. 
It  is  in  this  that  resides  the  double  problem  which  religions 
are  called  upon  to  resolve. 

They  have  too  often  mistaken  their  object.  They  have  re- 
garded liberty  as  an  obstacle,  and  not  as  a  means;  they  have 
forgotten  the  nature  of  the  power  to  which  they  address  them- 
selves, and  have  conducted  themselves  toward  the  human 
soul  as  they  would  toward  a  material  force.  It  is  this  error 
that  has  led  them  to  range  themselves  on  the  side  of  power, 
on  the  side  of  despotism,  against  human  liberty;  regarding  it 
as  an  adversary,  they  have  endeavored  to  subjugate  rather 
than  to  protect  it.  Had  religions  but  fairly  considered  their 
means  of  operation,  had  they  not  suffered  themselves  to  be 
drawn  away  by  a  natural  but  deceitful  bias,  they  would  have 
seen  that  liberty  is  a  condition,  without  which  man  cannot  be 
morally  governed;  that  religion  neither  has  nor  ought  to 
have  any  means  of  influence  not  strictly  moral:  they  would 
have  respected  the  will  of  man  in  their  attempt  to  govern  it. 
They  have  too  often  forgotten  this,  and  the  issue  has  been 
that  religious  power  and  liberty  have  suffered  together. 

I  will  not  push  further  this  investigation  of  the  general 
consequences  that  have  followed  the  influence  of  the  Church 
upon  European  civilization.  I  have  summed  them  up  in 
this  double  result — a  great  and  salutary  influence  upon  its 
jrioral  and  intellectual  condition;  an  influence  rather  hurtful 


CIVILIZATION    IN    MODERN    EUROPE.  II9 

than  beneficial  to  its  political  condition.  We  have  now  to 
try  our  assertions  b)'  facts,  to  verify  by  history  what  we  have 
as  yet  only  deduced  from  the  nature  and  situation  of  eccle- 
siastical society.  Let  us  now  see  what  was  the  destiny  of  the 
Christian  Church  from  the  fifth  to  the  twelfth  century,  and 
whether  the  principles  which  I  have  laid  down,  the  results 
which  I  have  endeavored  to  draw  from  them,  have  really 
been  such  as  I  have  represented  them. 

Let  me  caution  you,  however,  against  supposing  that 
these  principles,  these  results,  appeared  all  at  once,  and  as 
clearly  as  they  are  here  set  forth  by  me.  We  are  apt  to  fall 
into  the  great  and  common  error,  in  looking  at  the  past 
through  centuries  of  distances,  of  forgetting  moral  chronol- 
ogy; we  are  apt  to  forget — extraordinary  forgetfulness!  that 
history  is  essentially  successive.  Take  the  life  of  any  man 
— of  Oliver  Cromwell,  of  Cardinal  Richelieu,  of  Gustavus 
Adolphus.  He  enters  upon  his  career;  he  pushes  forward 
in  life,  and  rises;  great  circumstances  act  upon  him;  he  acts 
upon  great  circumstances.  He  arrives  at  the  end  of  all  things 
— and  then  it  is  we  know  him.  But  it  is  in  his  whole  charac- 
ter; it  is  as  a  complete,  a  finished  piece;  such  in  a  manner 
as  he  is  turned  out,  after  a  long  labor,  from  the  workshop 
of  Providence.  Now  at  his  outset  he  was  not  what  he  thus 
became;  he  was  not  completed — not  finished  at  any  single 
moment  of  his  life;  he  was  ^formed  successively.  Men  are 
formed  morally  in  the  same  way  as  they  are  physically.  They 
change  every  day.  Their  existence  is  constantly  undergoing 
some  modification.  The  Cromwell  of  1650  was  not  the  Crom- 
well of  1640  It  is  true,  there  is  always  a  large  stock  of  indi- 
viduality; the  same  man  still  holds  on;  but  how  many  ideas, 
how  many  sentiments,  how  many  inclinations  have  changed 
in  him!  What  a  number  of  things  he  has  lost  and  acquired! 
Thus,  at  whatever  moment  of  his  life  we  may  look  at  a  man, 
he  is  never  such  as  we  see  him  when  his  course  is  finished. 

This,  nevertheless,  is  an  error  into  which  a  great  number 
of  historians  have  fallen.  When  they  have  acquired  a  com- 
plete idea  of  a  man,  have  settled  his  character,  they  see  him 
in  his  same  character  throughout  his  whole  career.  With 
them,  it  is  the  same  Cromwell  who  enters  parliament  in  1628, 
and  who  dies  in  the  palace  of  White -Hall  thirty  years  after- 
ward. Just  such  mistakes  as  these  we  are  very  apt  to  fall 
into  with  regard  to  institutions  and  general  influences.  I 
caution  you  against  them.  I  have  laid  down  in  their  com- 
plete form,  as  a  whole,  the  principles  of  the  Church,  and  the 
consequences  which  maybe  deduced  from  them.   Be  assured, 


I20  GENERAL    HISTORY    OF 

however,  that  historically  this  picture  is  not  true.  All  it 
represents  has  taken  place  disjointly,  successively;  has  been 
scattered  here  and  there  over  space  and  time.  Expect  not 
to  find,  in  the  recital  of  events,  a  similar  completeness  or 
whole,  the  same  prompt  and  systematic  concatenation.  One 
principle  will  be  visible  here,  another  there;  all  will  be  incom- 
plete, unequal,  dispersed;  we  must  come  to  modern  times,  to 
the  end  of  its  career,  before  we  can  view  it  as  a  whole. 

I  shall  now  lay  before  j^'ou  the  various  states  through 
which  the  Church  passed  from  the  fifth  to  the  twelfth  cen- 
tury. We  may  not  find,  perhaps,  the  complete  demonstra- 
tion of  the  statements  which  I  have  made,  but  we  shall  see 
enough,  I  apprehend,  to  convince  us  that  they  are  founded 
in  truth. 

The  first  state  in  which  we  see  the  Church  in  the  fifth 
century,  is  as  the  Church  imperial — the  'Church  of  the 
Roman  empire.  Just  at  the  time  the  empire  fell,  the  Church 
believed  she  had  attained  the  summit  of  her  hopes:  after  a 
long  struggle,  she  had  completely  vanquished  paganism. 
Gratian,  the  last  emperor  who  assumed  the  pagan  dignity  of 
sovereign  pontiff,  died  at  the  close  of  the  fourth  century. 
The  Church  believed  herself  equally  victorious  in  her  strug- 
gle against  heretics,  particularly  against  Arianism,  the  prin- 
cipal heresy  of  the  time.  Theodosius,  at  the  end  of  the 
fourth  century,  put  them  down  by  his  imperial  edicts;  and 
had  the  double  merit  of  subduing  the  Arian  heresy  and 
abolishing  the  worship  of  idols  throughout  the  Roman  world. 
The  Church,  then,  was  in  possession  of  the  government,  and 
had  obtained  the  victory  over  her  two  greatest  enemies.  It 
was  at  this  moment  that  the  Roman  empire  failed  her,  and 
she  stood  in  the  presence  of  new  pagans,  of  new  heretics — in 
the  presence  of  the  barbarians — of  Goths,  of  Vandals,  of 
Burgundians  and  Franks.  The  fall  was  immense.  You 
may  easily  imagine  that  an  affectionate  attachment  for  the 
empire  was  for  a  long  time  preserved  in  the  Romish  Church. 
Hence  we  see  her  cherish  so  fondly  all  that  was  left  of  it — 
municipal  government  and  absolute  power.  Hence,  when 
she  had  succeeded  in  converting  the  barbarians,  she  en- 
deavored to  re-establish  the  empire;  she  called  upon  the 
barbarian  kings,  she  conjured  them  to  become  Roman  em- 
perors, to  assume  the  privilege  of  Roman  emperors;  to  enter 
into  the  same  relations  with  the  Church  which  had  existed 
between  her  and  the  Roman  empire.     This  was  the  great 


CIVILIZATION    IN    MODERN    EUROPE.  121 

object  for  which  the  bishops  of  the  fifth  and  sixth  centuries 
labored.     Such  was  the  general  state  of  the  Church. 

The  attempt  could  not  succeed — it  was  impossible  to 
make  a  Roman  empire,  to  mould  a  Roman  society  out  of 
barbarians.  Like  the  civil  world,  the  Church  herself  sunk 
into  barbarism.  This  was  her  second  state.  Comparing 
the  writings  of  the  monkish  ecclesiastical  chroniclers  of  the 
eighth  century  with  those  of  the  preceding  six,  the  difference 
is  immense.  All  remains  of  Roman  civilization  had  disap- 
peared, even  its  very  language — all  became  buried  in  com- 
plete barbarism.  On  one  side  the  rude  barbarians,  entering 
into  the  Church,  became  bishops  and  priests;  on  the  other, 
the  bishops,  adopting  the  barbarian  life,  became,  without 
quitting  their  bishoprics,  chiefs  of  bands  of  marauders,  and 
wandered  over  the  country,  pillaging  and  destroying  like  so 
many  companies  of  Clovis.  Gregory  of  Tours  gives  an  ac- 
count of  several  bishops  who  thus  passed  their  lives,  and 
among  others  Salone  and  Sagitttarius. 

Two  important  facts  took  place  while  the  Church  con- 
tinued in  this  state  of  barbarism. 

The  first  was  the  separation  of  the  spiritual  and  temporal 
powers.  Nothing  could  be  more  natural  than  the  birth  of 
this  principle  at  this  epoch.  The  Church  would  have  restored 
the  absolute  power  of  the  Roman  empire  that  she  might  par- 
take of  it,  but  she  could  not;  she  therefore  sought  her  safety 
in  independence.  It  became  necessary  that  she  should  be 
able  in  all  parts  to  defend  herself  by  her  own  power;  for 
she  was  threatened  in  every  quarter.  Every  bishop,  every 
priest,  saw  the  rude  chiefs  in  their  neighborhood  interfering 
in  the  affairs  of  the  Church  they  might  procure  a  slice  of  its 
wealth,  its  territory,  its  power;  and  no  other  means  of  de- 
fense seemed  left  but  to  say,  "  The  spiritual  order  is  com- 
pletely separated  from  the  temporal;  you  have  no  right  to 
interfere  with  it."  This  principle  became,  at  every  point 
of  attack,  the  defensive  armor  of  the  Church  against  bar- 
barism. 

A  second  important  fact  which  took  place  at  this  same 
period,  was  the  establishment  of  the  monastic  orders  in  the 
west.  It  was  at  the  commencement  of  the  sixth  century 
that  St.  Benedict  published  the  rules  of  his  order  for  the  use 
of  the  monks  of  the  west,  then  few  in  number,  but  who  from 
this  time  prodigiously  increased.  The  monks  at  this  epoch 
did  not  yet  belong  to  the  clerical  body,  but  were  still  regarded 
as  a  part  of  the  laity.     Priests  and  even  bishops  were  some- 


122  GENERAL    HISTORY    OF 

times  chosen  from  among  them;  but  it  was  not  till  the  close 
of  the  fifth  and  beginning  of  the  sixth  century  that  monks  in 
general  were  considered  as  belonging  to  the  clergy,  properly 
so  called.  Priests  and  bishops  now  entered  the  cloister, 
thinking  by  so  doing  they  advanced  a  step  in  their  religious 
life,  and  increased  the  sanctity  of  their  office.  The  monastic 
life  thus  all  at  once  became  exceedingly  popular  throughout 
Europe.  The  monks  had  a  greater  power  over  the  imagina- 
tion of  the  barbarians  than  the  secular  clergy.  The  simple 
bishop  and  priest  had  in  some  measure  lost  their  hold  upon 
the  minds  of  barbarians,  who  were  accustomed  to  see  them 
every  day;  to  maltreat,  perhaps  to  pillage  them.  It  was  a 
more  important  matter  to  attack  a  monastery,  a  body  of  holy 
men  congregated  in  a  holy  place.  Monasteries,  therefore, 
became  during  this  barbarous  period  an  asylum  for  the 
Church,  as  the  Chucrh  was  for  the  laity.  Pious  men  here 
took  refuge,  as  others  in  the  east  had  done  before  in  the 
Thebias,  in  order  to  escape  the  worldly  life  and  corruption  of 
Constantinople. 

These,  then,  are  the  two  most  important  facts  in  the 
history  of  the  Church,  during  the  period  of  barbarism. 
First,  the  separation  of  the  spiritual  and  temporal  powers; 
and,  secondly,  the  introduction  and  establishment  of  the 
monastic  orders  in  the  west. 

Toward  the  end  of  this  period  of  barbarism,  a  fresh 
attempt  was  made  to  raise  up  a  new  Roman  empire — I  allude 
to  the  attempt  of  Charlemagne.  The  Church  and  the  civil 
sovereign  again  contracted  a  close  alliance.  The  Holy  See 
was  full  of  docility  while  this  lasted,  and  greatly  increased 
its  power.  The  attempt,  however,  again  failed.  The  em- 
pire of  Charlemagne  was  broken  up;  but  the  advantages 
which  the  See  of  Rome  derived  from  its  alliance  were  great 
and  permanent.  The  popes  henceforward  were  decidedly 
the  chiefs  of  the  Christian  world. 

Upon  the  death  of  Charlemagne,  another  period  of  un- 
settledness  and  confusion  followed.  The  Church,  together 
with  civil  society,  again  fell  into  a  chaos;  again  with  civil 
society  she  arose,  and  with  it  entered  into  the  frame  of  the 
feudal  system.  This  was  the  third  state  of  the  Church. 
The  dissolution  of  the  empire  formed  by  Charlemagne,  was 
followed  by  nearly  the  same  results  in  the  Church  as  in 
civillife;  all  unity  disappeared,  all  became  local,  partial,  and 


CIVILIZATION    IN    MODERN    EUROPE.  I23 

individual.  Now  began  a  struggle,  in  the  situation  of  the 
clergy,  such  as  had  scarcely  ever  before  been  seen:  it  was 
the  struggle  of  the  feelings  and  interest  of  the  possessor  of 
the  fief,  with  the  feelings  and  interest  of  the  priest.  The 
chiefs  of  the  clergy  were  placed  in  this  double  situation;  the 
spirit  of  the  priest  and  of  the  temporal  baron  struggled  within 
them  for  mastery.  The  ecclesiastical  spirit  naturally  became 
weakened  and  divided  by  this  process — it  was  no  longer 
so  powerful,  so  universal.  Individual  interest  began  to  pre- 
vail. A  taste  for  independence,  the  habits  of  the  feudal  life, 
loosened  the  ties  of  the  hierarch3^  In  this  state  of  things, 
the  Church  made  an  attempt  within  its  own  bosom  to  correct 
the  effects  of  this  general  break-up.  It  endeavored  in  several 
parts  of  its  empire,  by  means  of  federation,  by  common 
assemblies  and  deliberations,  to  organize  national  churches. 
It  is  during  this  period,  during  the  sway  of  the  feudal  system, 
that  we  meet  with  the  greatest  number  of  councils,  convoca- 
tions, and  ecclesiastical  assemblies,  as  well  provincial  as 
national.  In  France  especially,  this  endeavor  at  unity 
appeared  to  be  followed  up  with  much  spirit.  Hincmar, 
Archbishop  of  Rheims,  may  be  considered  as  the  representa- 
tive of  this  idea.  He  labored  incessantly  to  organize  the 
French  Church;  he  sought  out  and  employed  every  means 
of  correspondence  and  union  which  he  thought  likely  to  in- 
troduce into  the  Feudal  Church  a  little  more  unity.  We  find 
him  on  one  side  maintaining  the  independence  of  the  Church 
with  respect  to  temporal  power,  on  the  other  its  indepen- 
dence with  respect  to  the  Roman  See;  it  was  he  who,  learn- 
ing that  the  pope  wished  to  come  to  France,  and  threatened 
to  excommunicate  the  bishops,  said.  Si  exconummicaturus 
venej'it,  excommunicatus  abibit. 

But  the  attempt  thus  to  organize  a  Feudal  Church  suc- 
ceeded no  better  than  the  attempt  to  re-establish  the  imperial 
one.  There  were  no  means  of  reproducing  any  degree  of 
unity  among  its  members;  it  tended  more  and  more  toward 
dissolution.  Each  bishop,  each  prelate,  each  abbot,  isolated 
himself  more  and  more  in  his  diocese  or  monastery.  Abuses 
and  disorders  increased  from  the  same  cause.  At  no  time 
was  the  crime  of  simony  carried  to  a  greater  extent — at  no 
time  were  ecclesiastical  benefices  disposed  of  in  a  more  ar- 
bitrary manner — never  were  the  morals  of  the  clergy  more 
loose  and  disorderly. 

Both  the  people  and  the  better  portion  of  the  clergy  wer  3 
greatly. scandalized  at  this  sad  state  of  things;  and  a  dciiie 


124  GENERAL    HISTORY    OF 

for  reform  in  the  Church  soon  began  to  show  itself — a 
desire  to  find  some  authority  round  which  it  might  rally  its 
better  principles,  and  which  might  impose  some  wholesome 
restraints  on  the  others.  Several  bishops — Claude  of  Turin, 
Agobard  of  Lyons,  etc., — in  their  respective  dioceses  at- 
tempted this,  but  in  vain;  they  were  not  in  a  condition  to 
accomplish  so  vast  a  work.  In  the  whole  Church  there  was 
only  one  power  that  could  succeed  in  this,  and  that  was  the 
Roman  See;  nor  was  that  power  slow  in  assuming  the  posi- 
tion which  it  wished  to  attain.  In  the  course  of  the  eleventh 
century,  the  Church  entered  upon  its  fourth  state — that  of  a 
theocracy  supported  by  monastic  institutions. 

The  person  who  raised  the  Holy  See  to  this  power,  so 
far  as  it  can  be  considered  the  work  of  an  individual,  was 
Gregory  VII. 

It  has  been  the  custom  to  represent  this  great  pontiff  as 
an  enemy  to  all  improvement,  as  opposed  to  intellectual 
development,  to  the  progress  of  society;  as  a  man  whose 
desire  was  to  keep  the  world  stationary  or  retrograding. 
Nothing  is  farther  from  the  truth.  Gregory,  like  Charle- 
magne and  Peter  the  Great,  was  a  reformer  of  the  despotic 
school.  The  part  he  played  in  the  Church  was  very  similar 
to  that  which  Charlemagne  and  Peter  the  Great,  the  one  in 
France  and  the  other  in  Russia,  played  among  the  laity.  He 
wished  to  reform  the  Church  first,  and  next  civil  society  by 
the  Church.  He  wished  to  introduce  into  the  world  more 
morality,  more  justice,  more  order  and  regularity;  he  wished 
to  do  all  this  through  the  Holy  See,  and  to  turn  all  to  his 
own  profit. 

While  Gregory  was  endeavoring  to  bring  the  civil  world 
into  subjection  to  the  Church,  and  the  Church  to  the  See  of 
Rome — not,  as  I  have  said  before,  to  keep  it  stationary,  or 
make  it  retrogade,  but  with  a  view  to  its  reform  and  improve- 
ment— an  attempt  of  the  same  nature,  a  similar  movement, 
was  made  within  the  solitary  enclosures  of  the  monasteries. 
The  want  of  order,  of  discipline,  and  of  a  stricter  morality, 
was  severely  felt  and  cried  out  for  with  a  zeal  that  would  not 
be  said  nay.  About  this  time  Robert  De  Moleme  established 
his  severe  rule  at  Citeaux;  about  the  same  time  flourished 
St.  Norbert,  and  the  reform  of  the  canons,  the  reform  of 
Cluny,  and,  at  last,  the  great  reform  of  St.  Bernard.  A 
general  fermentation  reigned  within  the  monasteries:  the  old 
monks  did  not  like  this;  in  defending  themselves,  they 
called  these  reforms  an  attack  upon  their  liberty;  pleaded 


CIVILIZATION    IN    MODERN    EUROPE.  I25 

the  necessity  of  conforming  to  the  manners  of  the  times,  that 
it  was  impossible  to  return  to  the  discipHne  of  the  primitive 
Church,  and  treated  all  these  reformers  as  madmen,  as  en- 
thusiasts, as  tyrants.  Dip  into  the  history  of  Normandy,  by 
Ordericus  Vitalius,  and  you  will  meet  with  these  complaints 
at  almost  every  page. 

All  this  seemed  greatly  in  favor  of  the  Church,  of  its 
unity,  and  of  its  po%er.  While,  however,  the  popes  of 
Rome  sought  to  usurp  the  government  of  the  world,  while 
the  monasteries  enforced  a  better  code  of  morals  and  a 
severer  form  of  discipline,  a  few  mighty,  though  solitary 
individuals  protested  in  favor  of  liuman  reason,  and  asserted 
its  claim  to  be  heard,  its  right  to  be  consulted,  in  the  forma- 
tion of  man's  opinions.  The  greater  part  of  these  philoso- 
phers forbore  to  attack  commonly  received  opinions — I  mean 
religious  creeds;  all  they  claimed  for  reason  was  the  right  to 
be  heard — all  they  declared  was,  that  she  had  the  right  to  try 
these  truths  by  her  own  tests,  and  that  it  was  not  enough 
that  they  should  be  merely  affirmed  by  authority.  John 
Erigena,  or  John  Scotus,  as  he  is  more  frequently  called, 
Roscelin,  Abelard,  and  others,  became  the  noble  interpreters 
of  individual  reason,  when  it  now  began  to  claim  its  lawful 
inheritence.  It  was  the  teaching  and  writings  of  these  giants 
of  their  days  that  first  put  in  motion  that  desire  for  intellec- 
tual liberty,  which  kept  pace  with  the  reform  of  Gregory 
VII.  and  St.  Bernard.  If  we  examine  the  general  character 
of  this  movement  of  mind,  we  shall  find  that  it  sought  not  a 
change  of  opinion,  that  it  did  not  array  itself  against  the 
received  system  of  faith;  but  that  it  simply  advocated  the 
right  of  reason  to  work  for  itself — in  short,  the  right  of  free 
inquiry. 

The  scholars  of  Abelard,  as  he  himself  tell  us,  in  his 
Iiitroduction  to  Theology^  requested  him  to  give  them  "  some 
philosophical  arguments,  such  as  were  fit  to  satisfy  their 
minds;  begged  that  he  would  instruct  them,  not  merely  to 
repeat  what  he  taught  them,  but  to  understand  it;  for  no 
one  can  believe  that  which  he  does  not  comprehend,  and  it 
is  absurd  to  set  out  to  preach  to  others  concerning  things 
which  neither  those  who  teach  nor  those  who  learn  can  un- 
derstand. What  other  end  can  the  study  of  philosophy 
have,  if  not  to  lead  us  to  a  knowledge  of  God,  to  which  all 
studies  should  be  subordinate?  For  what  purpose  is  the 
reading  of  profane  authors,  and  of  books  which  treat  of 
worldly  affairs,  permitted  to  believers,  if  not  to  enable  them 


120  GENERAL    HISTORY    OF 

to  understand  the  truths  of  the  Holy  Scriptures,  and  to  give 
them  the  abilities  necessary  to  defend  them?  It  is  above  all 
things  desirable  for  this  purpose,  that  we  should  strengthen 
one  another  with  all  the  powers  of  reason;  so  that  in  ques- 
tions so  difficult  and  complicated  as  those  which  form  the 
object  of  Christian  faith,  you  may  be  able  to  hinder 
the  subtilties  of  its  enemies  from  too  easily  corrupting  its 
purity." 

The  importance  of  this  first  attem'pt  after  liberty,  or  this 
re-birth  of  the  spirit  of  free  inquiry,  was  not  long  in  making 
itself  felt.  Though  busied  with  its  own  reform,  the  Church 
soon  took  the  alarm,  and  ^t  once  declared  war  against  these 
new  reformers,  whose  methods  gave  it  more  reason  to  fear 
than  their  doctrines.  This  clamor  of  human  reason  was  the 
grand  circumstance  which  burst  forth  at  the  close  of  the 
eleventh  and  beginning  of  the  twelfth  centuries,  just  at  the 
time  the  Church  was  establishing  its  theocratic  and  monastic 
form.  At  this  epoch,  a  serious  struggle  for  the  first  time 
broke  out  between  the  clergy  and  the  advocates  of  free  in- 
quiry. The  quarrels  of  Abelard  and  St.  Bernard,  the  coun- 
cils of  Soissons  and  Sens,  at  which  Abelard  was  condemned, 
were  nothing  more  than  the  expresssion  of  this  fact,  which 
holds  so  important  a  place  in  the  history  of  modern  civiliza- 
tion. It  was  the  principal  occurrence  which  affected  the 
Church  in  the  twelfth  century;  the  point  at  which  we  will, 
for  the  present,  take  leave  of  it. 

But  at  this  same  instant  another  power  was  put  in  motion, 
which,  though  altogether  of  a  different  character,  was  per- 
haps one  of  the  most  interesting  and  important  in  the  pro- 
gress of  society  during  the  middle  ages — I  mean  the  institu- 
tion of  free  cities  and  boroughs;  or  what  is  called  the 
enfranchisement  of  the  commons.  How  strange  is  the 
inconsistency  of  grossness  and  ignorance!  If  it  had  been 
told  to  these  early  citizens  who  vindicated  their  liberties 
with  such  enthusiasm,  that  there  were  certain  men  who  cried 
out  for  the  rights  of  human  reason,  the  right  of  free  inquiry, 
men  whom  the  Church  regarded  as  heretics,  they  would  have 
stoned  or  burned  them  on  the  spot.  Abelard  and  his  friends 
more  than  once  ran  the  risk  of  suffering  this  kind  of  martyr- 
dom. On  the  other  hand,  these  same  philosophers,  who 
were  so  bold  in  their  demands  for  the  privileges  of  reason, 
spoke  of  the  enfranchisement  of  the  commons  as  an 
abominable  revolution,  calculated  to  destroy  civil  society. 
Between  the  movement  of  philosophy  and  the  movement  of 
the   commons — between   political   liberty  and   the   liberty  of 


CIVILIZATION    IN    MODERN    EUROPE.  I27 

the  human  mind — a  war  seemed  to  be  declared;  and  it  has 
required  ages  to  reconcile  these  two  powers,  and  to  make 
them  understand  that  their  interests  are  the  same.  In 
the  twelfth  century  they  had  nothing  in  common,  as  we 
shall  more  fully  see  in  the  next  lecture,  which  will  be 
devoted  to  the  formation  of  free  cities  and  municipal  cor- 
porations. 


LECTURE   VII. 

RISE    OF     FREE    CITIES. 

We  have  already,  in  our  previous  lectures,  brought  down 
the  history  of  the  two  first  great  elements  of  modern  civiliza- 
tion, the  feudal  system  and  the  Church,  to  the  twelfth  cen- 
tury. The  third  of  these  fundamental  elements — that  of  the 
commons,  or  free  corporate  cities — will  from  the  subject  of 
the  present,  and  I  propose  to  limit  it  to  the  same  period  as 
that  occupied  by  the  other  two. 

It  is  necessary,  however,  that  I  should  notice,  on  enter- 
ing upon  this  subject,  a  difference  which  exists  between  cor- 
porate cities  and  the  feudal  system  and  the  Church.  The 
two  latter,  although  they  increased  in  influence,  and  were 
subject  to  many  changes,  yet  show  themselves  as  completed, 
as  having  put  on  a  definite  form,  between  the  fifth  and  the 
twelfth  centuries — we  see  their  rise,  growth,  and  maturity. 
Not  so  the  free  cities.  It  is  not  till  toward  the  close  of  this 
period — till  the  eleventh  and  twelfth  centuries — that  cor- 
porate cities  make  any  figure  in  history.  Not  that  I  mean 
to  assert  that  their  previous  history  does  not  merit  attention; 
not  that  there  are  not  evident  traces  of  their  existence  before 
this  period;  all  I  would  observe  is,  that  they  did  not,  pre- 
viously to  the  eleventh  century,  perform  any  important  part 
in  the  great  drama  of  the  world,  as  connected  with  modern 
civilization.  Again,  with  regard  to  the  feudal  system  and 
the  Church;  we  have  seen  them,  between  the  fifth  century 
and  the  twelfth,  act  with  power  upon  the  social  system;  we 
have  seen  the  effects  they  produced;  by  regarding  them  as 
two  great  principles,  we  have  arrived,  by  way  of  induction, 
by  way  of  conjecture,  at  certain  results  which  we  have  veri- 
fied by  referring  to  facts  themselves.  This,  however,  we 
cannot  do  with  regard  to  corporations.  We  only  see  these 
in  their  childhood.  I  can  scarcely  go  further  to-day  than 
inquire  into  their  causes,  their  origin;  and  the  few  observa- 
tions I  shall  make  respecting  their  effects — respecting  the 
influence  of  corporate  cities  upon  modern  civilization,  will 
be  rather  a  foretelling  of  what  afterward  came  to  pass,  than 


CIVILIZATION    IX    MODERN    EUROPE.  1 29 

a  recounting  of  what  actually  took  place.  I  cannot,  at  this 
period,  call  in  the  testimony  of  known  and  contemporary 
events,  because  it  was  not  till  between  the  twelfth  and 
fifteenth  centuries  that  corporations  attained  any  degree  of 
perfection  and  influence,  that  these  institutions  bore  any 
fruit,  and  that  we  can  verify  our  assertions  by  history.  I 
mention  this  difference  of  situation,  in  order  to  forewarn 
you  of  that  which  you  may  find  incomplete  and  premature  in 
the  sketch  I  am  about  to  give  you. 

Let  us  suppose  that  in  the  year  1789,  at  the  commence- 
ment of  the  terrible  regeneration  of  France,  a  burgess  of  the 
twelfth  century  had  risen  from  his  grave,  and  made  his 
appearance  among  us  and  some  one  had  put  into  his  hands 
(for  we  will  suppose  he  could  read)  one  of  those  spirit-stirring 
pamphlets  which  caused  so  much  excitement,  for  instance, 
that  of  M.  Sieyes,  What  is  the  third  estate?  ((' Qn' est-ce  que 
le  tiers  e'tat?'')  If,  in  looking  at  this,  he  had  met  the  follow- 
ing passage,  which  forms  the  basis  of  the  pamphlet: — "  The 
third  estate  is  the  French  nation  without  the  nobility  and 
clergy:"  what,  let  me  ask,  would  be  the  impression  such  a 
sentence  would  make  on  this  burgess's  mind?  Is  it  probable 
that  he  would  understand  it?  No:  he  would  not  be  able  to 
comprehend  the  meaning  of  the  words,  "the  French  nation," 
because  they  remind  him  of  no  facts  of  circumstances  with 
which  he  would  be  acquainted,  but  represent  a  state  of 
things  to  the  existence  of  which  he  is  an  entire  stranger; 
but  if  he  did  understand  the  phrase,  and  had  a  clear  appre- 
hension that  the  absolute  sovereignty  was  lodged  in  the  third 
estate,  it  is  beyond  a  question  that  he  would  characterize 
such  a  proposition  as  almost  absurd  and  impious,  so  utterly 
at  variance  would  it  be  with  his  feelings  and  his  ideas  of  things 
— so  contradictory  to  the  experience  and  observation  of  his 
whole  life. 

If  wx  now  suppose  the  astonished  burgess  to  be  introduced 
into  any  one  of  the  free  cities  of  Prance  which  had  existed  in 
his  time — say  Rhiems,  or  Beauvais,  or  Laon,  or  Noyon — we 
shall  see  him  still  more  astonished  and  puzzled:  he  enters  the 
town,  he  sees  no  towers,  ramparts,  militia,  or  any  other  kind 
of  defense;  everything  exposed,  everything  an  easy  spoil  to 
the  first  depredator,  the  town  ready  to  fall  into  the  hands  of  the 
first  assailant.  The  burgess  is  alarmed  at  the  insecurity  of 
this  free  city,  which  he  finds  in  so  defenseless  and  unpro- 
tected a  condition.  He  then  proceeds  into  the  heart  of  the 
town;  he  inquires  how  things  are  going  on,  what  is  the 
nature  of  its  government,  and  the   character  of  its   inhabi- 


13d  GENERAL    HISTORY    OF 

tants.  He  learns  that  there  is  an  authority  rot  resident 
within  its  walls,  which  imposes  whatever  taxes  it  pleases  to 
levy  upon  them  without  their  consent;  which  requires  them 
to  keep  up  a  militia,  and  to  serve  in  the  army  without  their 
inclination  being  consulted.  They  talk  to  him  about  the 
magistrates,  about  the  mayor  and  aldermen,  and  he  is 
obliged  to  hear  that  the  burgesses  have  nothing  to  do  with 
their  nomination.  He  learns  that  the  municipal  government 
is  not  conducted  by  the  burgesses,  but  that  a  servant  of  the 
king,  a  steward  living  at  a  distance,  has  the  sole  manage- 
ment of  their  affairs.  In  addition  to  this,  he  is  informed 
that  they  are  prohibited  from  assembling  together  to  take 
into  consideration  matters  immediately  concerning  them- 
selves, that  the  church  bells  have  ceased  to  announce  public 
meetings  for  such  purposes.  The  burgess  of  the  twelfth 
century  is  struck  dumb  with  confusion — a  moment  since  he 
was  amazed  at  the  greatness,  the  importance,  the  vast 
superiority  which  the  ''tiers  c'tat"  so  vauntingly  arrogated 
to  itself;  but  now,  upon  examination,  he  finds  them  deprived 
of  all  civic  rights,  and  in  a  state  of  thraldom  and  degradation 
far  more  intolerable  than  he  had  ever  before  witnessed.  He 
passes  suddenly  from  one  extreme  to  the  other,  from  the  spec- 
tacle of  a  corporation  exercising  sovereign  power  to  a  cor- 
poration without  any  power  at  all:  how  is  it  possible  that  he 
should  understand  this,  or  be  able  to  reconcile  it?  his  head 
must  be  turned,  and  his  faculties  lost  in  wonder  and  confusion. 

Now,  let  us  burgesses  of  the  nineteenth  century  imagine, 
in  our  turn,  that  we  are  transported  back  into  the  twelfth. 
A  twofold  appearance,  but  exactly  reversed,  presents  itself 
to  us  in  a  precisely  similar  manner.  If  we  regard  the  affairs 
of  the  public  in  general — the  state,  the  government,  the 
country,  the  nation  at  large — we  shall  neither  see  nor  hear 
anything  of  burgesses;  they  were  mere  ciphers — of  no  im- 
portance or  consideration  w^hatever.  Not  only  so,  but  if  we 
w^ould  know  in  what  estimation  they  held  themselves  as  a 
body,  what  weight,  what  influence  they  attached  to  them- 
selves with  respect  to  their  relations  toward  the  government 
of  France  as  a  nation,  we  shall  receive  a  reply  to  our  inquiry 
in  language  expressive  of  deep  humility  and  timidity;  while 
we  shall  find  their  masters,  the  lords,  from  whom  they  sub- 
sequently wrested  their  franchises,  treating  them,  at  least  as 
far  as  words  go,  with  a  pride  and  scorn  truly  amazing;  yet 
these  indignities  do  not  appear,  in  the  slightest  degree,  to 
provoke  or  astonish  their  submissive  vassals. 


CIVILIZATION    IN    MODERN    EUROPE.  131 

But  let  US  enter  one  of  these  free  cities,  and  see  what  is 
going  on  within  it.  Here  things  take  quite  another  turn: 
we  find  ourselves  in  a  fortified  town,  defended  by  armed 
burgesses.  These  burgesses  fix  their  own  taxes,  elect  their 
own  magistrates,  have  their  own  courts  of  judicature,  their 
own  public  assemblies  for  deliberating  upon  public  measures, 
from  which  none  are  excluded.  They  make  war  at  their 
own  expense,  even  against  their  suzerain — maintain  their 
own  militia.  In  short,  they  govern  themselves,  they  are 
sovereigns. 

Here  we  have  a  similar  contrast  to  that  which  made 
France,  of  the  eighteenth  century,  so  perplexing  to  the  bur- 
gess of  the  twelfth;  the  scenes  only  are  changed.  In  the 
present  day  the  burgesses,  in  a  national  point  of  view,  are 
everything — municipalities  nothing;  formerly  corporations 
were  everything,  while  the  burgesses,  as  respects  the  nation, 
were  nothing.  From  this  it  will  appear  evident  that  many 
things,  many  extraordinary  events,  and  even  many  revolu- 
tions, must  have  happened  between  the  twelfth  and  the 
fifteenth  centuries,  in  order  to  bring  about  so  great  a  change 
as  that  which  has  taken  place  in  the  social  condition  of  this 
class  of  society.  But  however  vast  this  change,  there  can 
be  no  doubt  but  that  the  commons,  the  third  estate  of  1789, 
politically  speaking,  are  the  descendants,  the  heirs  of  the 
free  towns  of  the  twelfth  century.  And  the  present  haughty, 
ambitious  French  nation,  which  aspires  so  high,  which  pro- 
claims so  pompously  its  sovereignty,  and  pretends  not  only 
to  have  regenerated  and  to  govern  itself,  but  to  regenerate 
and  rule  the  whole  world,  is  indisputably  descended  from 
those  very  free  towns  which  revolted  in  the  twelfth  century 
— with  great  spirit  and  courage  it  must  be  allowed,  but  with 
no  nobler  object  than  that  of  escaping  to  some  remote  corner 
of  the  land  from  the  vexatious  tyranny  of  a  few  nobles. 

It  would  be  in  vain  to  expect  that  the  condition  of  the 
free  towns  in  the  twelfth  century  will  reveal  the  causes  of  a 
metamorphosis  such  as  this,  which  resulted  from  a  series  of 
events  that  took  place  between  the  twelfth  and  eighteenth 
centuries.  It  is  in  these  events  that  we  shall  discover  the 
causes  of  this  change  as  we  go  on.  Nevertheless,  the  origin 
of  the  "  tiei's  ctaf  has  played  a  striking  part  in  its  history; 
and  though  we  may  not  be  able  therein  to  trace  out  the  whole 
secret  of  its  destiny,  we  shall,  at  least,  there  meet  with  the 
seeds  of  it;  that  which  it  was  at   first,  again  occurs   in  that 


132  GENERAL    HISTORY    OP 

which  it  is  become,  and  this  to  a  iruch  greater  extent  than 
might  be  presumed  from  appearances,  A  sketch,  however 
imperfect,  of  the  state  of  the  free  cities  in  the  twelfth  cen- 
tury, will,  I  think,  convince  you  of  this  fact. 

In  order  to  understand  the  condition  of  the  free  cities  at 
that  time  properly,  it  is  necessary  to  consider  them  in  two 
points  of  view.  There  are  two  great  questions  to  be  deter- 
mined: firsts  that  of  the  enfranchisement  of  the  commons, 
or  cities — that  is  to  say,  how  this  revolution  was  brought 
about,  what  were  its  causes,  what  alteration  it  effected  in 
the  condition  of  the  burgesses,  what  in  that  of  society  in 
general,  and  in  that  of  all  the  other  orders  of  the  state.  The 
second  question  relates  to  the  government  of  the  free  cities, 
the  internal  condition  of  the  enfranchised  towns,  with  refer- 
ence to  the  burgesses  residing  within  them,  the  principles, 
forms,  and  customs  that  prevailed  among  them. 

From  these  two  sources — namely,  the  change  introduced 
into  the  social  position  of  the  burgesses,  on  the  one  hand, 
and  from  the  internal  government,  by  their  municipal  econ- 
omy, on  the  other,  has  flowed  all  their  influence  upon  modern 
civilization.  All  the  circumstances  that  can  be  traced  to 
their  influence,  may  be  referred  to  one  of  those  two  causes. 
As  soon,  then,  as  we  thoroughly  understand,  and  can  satis- 
factorily account  for,  the  enfranchisement  of  the  free  cities 
on  the  one  hand,  and  the  formation  of  their  government  on 
the  other,  we  shall  be  in  possession  of  the  two  keys  to  their 
history.  In  conclusion,  I  shall  say  a  few  words  on  the  great 
diversity  of  conditions  in  the  free  cities  of  Europe.  The 
facts  which  I  am  about  to  lay  before  you  are  not  to  be 
applied  indiscriminately  to  all  the  free  cities  of  the  twelfth 
century — to  those  of  Italy,  Spain,  England,  and  France 
alike;  many  of  them  undoubtedly  were  nearly  the  same  in 
them  all,  but  the  points  of  difference  are  great  and  impor- 
tant. I  shall  point  them  out  to  your  notice  as  I  proceed. 
We  shall  meet  with  them  again  at  a  more  advanced  stage  of 
our  civilization,  and  can  then  examine  them  more  closely. 

In  acquainting  ourselves  with  the  history  of  the  enfran- 
chisement of  the  free  towns,  we  must  remember  what  was 
the  state  of  those  towns  between  the  fifth  and  eleventh  cen- 
turies— from  the  fall  of  the  Roman  empire  to  the  time  when 
municipal  revolution  commenced.  Here,  I  repeat,  the  dif- 
ferences are  striking:  the  condition  of  the  towns  varied 
amazingly  in   the   different  countries  of  Europe;  still  there 


CIVILIZATION    IN    MODERN    EUROPE.  133 

are  some  facts  which  may  be  regarded  as  nearly  common  to 
them  all,  and  it  is  to  these  that  I  shall  confine  my  observa- 
tions. When  I  have  gone  through  these,  I  shall  say  a  few- 
words  more  particularly  respecting  the  free  towns  of  France, 
and  especially  those  of  the  north,  beyond  the  Rhone  and  the 
Loire;  these  will  form  prominent  figures  in  the  sketch  I  am 
about  to  make. 

After  the  fall  of  the  Roman  empire,  between  the  fifth 
and  tenth  centuries,  the  towns  were  neither  in  a  state  of  ser- 
vitude nor  freedom.  We  here  again  run  the  same  risk  of 
error  in  the  employment  of  words,  that  I  spoke  to  you  of  in 
a  previous  lecture  in  describing  the  character  of  men  and 
events.  When  a  society  has  lasted  a  considerable  time,  and 
its  language  also,  its  words  acquire  a  complete,  a  determinate, 
a  precise,  a  sort  of  legal  official  signification.  Time  has  in- 
troduced into  the  signification  of  every  term  a  thousand 
ideas,  which  are  awakened  within  us  every  time  we  hear  it 
pronounced,  but  which,  as  they  do  not  all  bear  the  same 
date,  are  not  all  suitable  at  the  same  time.  The  terms 
''servitude  &nd  freedom^''  for  example,  recall  to  our  minds 
ideas  far  more  precise  and  definite  than  the  facts  of  the 
eighth,  ninth,  or  tenth  centuries  to  which  they  relate.  If 
we  say  that  the  towns  in  the  eighth  century  were  in  a  state 
of  freedom,  we  say  by  far  too  much:  we  attach  now  to  the 
word  ''freedoju'  a  signification  which  does  not  represent  the 
fact  of  the  eighth  century.  We  shall  fall  into  the  same 
error,  if  we  say  that  the  towns  were  in  a  state  of  servitude; 
for  this  term  implies  a  state  of  things  very  different  from  the 
circumstances  of  the  municipal  towns  of  those  days.  I  say 
again,  then,  that  the  towns  were  neither  in  a  state  of  freedom 
nor  servitude:  they  suffered  all  the  evils  to  which  weakness 
is  liable:  they  were  a  prey  to  the  continual  depredations, 
rapacity,  and  violence  of  the  strong:  yet,  notwithstanding 
these  horrid  disorders,  their  impoverished  and  diminishing 
population,  the  towns  had,  and  still  maintained,  a  certain 
degree  of  importance:  in  most  of  them  there  was  a  clergy- 
man, a  bishop  who  exercised  great  authority,  who  possessed 
great  influence  over  the  people,  served  as  a  tie  between  them 
and  their  conquerors,  thus  maintaining  the  city  in  a  sort  of 
independence,  by  throwing  over  it  the  protecting  shield  of 
religion.  Besides  this,  there  were  still  left  in  the  towns 
some  valuable  fragments  of  Roman  institutions.  We  are 
indebted  to  the  careful  researches  of  MM.  de  Savigny, 
Hullmann,  Mdle.  de  Lezardiere,  etc.,  for  having  furnished 


134  GENERAL    HISTORY    OP 

US  with  many  circumstances  of  this  nature.  We  hear  often, 
at  this  period,  of  the  convocation  of  the  senate,  of  the  curiae, 
of  pubHc  assembhes,  of  municipal  magistrates.  Matters  of 
poHce,  wills,  donations,  and  a  multitude  of  civil  transactions, 
were  concluded  in  the  cu7-i(B  by  the  magistrates,  in  the  same 
way  that  they  had  previously  been  done  under  the  Roman 
municipal  government. 

These  remains  of  urban  activity  and  freedom  were  gradu- 
ally disappearing,  it  is  true,  from  day  to  day.  Barbarism 
and  disorder,  evils  always  increasing,  accelerated  depopula- 
tion. The  establisment  of  the  lords  of  the  country  in  the 
provinces,  and  the  rising  preponderance  of  agricultural  life, 
became  another  cause  of  the  decline  of  the  cities.  The 
bishops  themselves,  after  they  had  incorporated  themselves 
into  the  feudal  frame,  attached  much  less  importance  to 
their  municipal  life.  Finally,  upon  the  triumph  of  the  feudal 
system,  the  towns,  without  falling  into  the  slavery  of  the 
agriculturists,  were  entirely  subjected  to  the  control  of  a 
lord,  were  included  in  some  fief,  and  lost,  by  this  title,  some- 
what of  the  independence  which  still  remained  to  them,  and 
which,  indeed,  they  had  continued  to  possess,  even  in  the 
most  barbarous  times— even  in  the  first  centuries  of  invasion. 
So  that  from  the  fifth  century  up  to  the  time  of  the  com- 
plete organization  of  the  feudal  system,  the  state  of  the 
towns  was  continually  getting  worse. 

When  once,  however,  the  feudal  system  was  fairly  estab- 
lished, when  every  man  had  taken  his  place,  and  became 
fixed  as  it  were  to  the  soil,  when  the  wandering  life  had 
entirely  ceased,  the  towns  again  assumed  some  importance 
— a  new  activity  began  to  display  itself  within  them.  This 
is  not  surprising.  Human  activity,  as  we  all  know,  is  like 
the  fertility  of  the  soil — when  the  disturbing  process  is  over, 
it  reappears  and  makes  all  to  grow  and  blossom;  wherever 
there  appears  the  least  glimmering  of  peace  and  order  the 
hopes  of  man  are  excited,  and  with  his  hopes  his  industry. 
This  is  what  took  place  in  the  cities.  No  sooner  was  society 
a  little  settled  under  the  feudal  system,  than  the  proprietors 
of  fiefs  began  to  feel  new  wants,  and  to  acquire  a  certain 
degree  of  taste  for  improvement  and  melioration;  this  gave 
rise  to  some  little  commerce  and  industry  in  the  towns  of 
their  domains;  wealth  and  population  increased  within  them 
r-slowly  for  certain,  but  still  they  increased.  Among  other 
circumstances  which  aided   in  bringing  this  about,  there  is 


CIVILIZATION    IN    MODERN    EUROPE.  135 

one  which,  in  my  opinion,  has  not  been  sufficiently  noticed 
— I  mean  the  asykim,  the  protection  which  the  churches 
afforded  to  fugitives.  Before  the  free  towns  were  consti- 
tuted, before  they  were  in  a  condition  by  their  power,  their 
fortifications,  to  offer  an  asylum  to  the  desolate  population  of 
the  country,  when  there  was  no  place  of  safety  for  them  but 
the  Church,  this  circumstance  alone  was  sufficient  to  draw 
into  the  cities  many  unfortunate  persons  and  fugitives. 
These  sought  refuge  either  in  the  Church  itself  or  within  its 
precincts;  it  was  not  merely  the  lower  orders,  such  as  serfs, 
villains,  and  so  on,  that  sought  this  protection,  but  frequently 
men  of  considerable  rank  and  wealth,  who  might  chance  to 
be  proscribed.  The  chronicles  of  the  times  are  full  of  ex- 
amples of  this  kind.  We  find  men  lately  powerful,  upon- 
being  attacked  by  some  more  powerful  neighbor,  or  by  the 
king  himself,  abandoning  their  dwellings,  and  carrying  away 
all  the  property  they  could  rake  together,  entering  into  some 
city,  and  placing  themselves  under  the  protection  of  a  church: 
they  became  citizens.  Refugees  of  this  sort  had,  in  my 
opinion,  a  considerable  influence  upon  the  progress  of  the 
cities;  they  introduced  into  them,  besides  their  wealth,  ele- 
ments of  a  population  superior  to  the  great  mass  of  their 
inhabitants.  We  know,  moreover,  that  when  once  an  assem- 
blage somewhat  considerable  is  formed  in  any  place,  that 
other  persons  naturally  flock  to  it;  perhaps  from  finding  it  a 
place  of  greater  security,  or  perhaps  from  that  sociable  dis- 
position of  our  nature  which  never  abandons  us. 

By  the  concurrence  of  all  these  causes,  the  cities  regained 
a  small  portion  of  power  as  soon  as  the  feudal  sytsem  became 
somewhat  settled.  But  the  security  of  the  citizens  was  not 
restored  to  an  equal  extent.  The  roving,  wandering  life 
had,  it  is  true,  in  a  great  measure  ceased,  but  to  the  con- 
querors, to  the  new  proprietors  of  the  soil,  this  roving  life 
was  one  great  means  of  gratifying  their  passions.  When 
they  desired  to  pillage,  they  made  an  excursion,  they  went 
afar  to  seek  a  better  fortune,  another  domain.  When  they 
became  more  settled,  when  they  considered  it  necessary  to 
renounce  their  predatory  expeditions,  the  same  passions,  the 
same  gross  desires,  still  remained  in  full  force.  But  the 
weight  of  these  now  fell  upon  those  whom  they  found  ready 
at  hand,  upon  the  powerful  of  the  world,  upon  the  cities. 
Instead  of  going  afar  to  pillage,  they  pillaged  what  was  near. 
The  exactions  of  the  proprietors  of  fifes  upon  the  burgesses 
were  redoubled  at  the  end  of  the  tenth  century.     Whenever 


136  GENERAL    HISTORY    OF 

the  lord  of  the  domain,  by  which  a  city  was  girt,  feh  a  desire 
to  increase  his  wealth,  he  gratified  his  avarice  at  the  expense 
of  the  citizens.  It  was  more  particularly  at  this  period  that  the 
citizens  complained  of  the  total  want  of  commercial  security. 
Merchants,  on  returning  from  their  trading  rounds,  could 
not,  with  safety,  return  to  their  city.  Every  avenue  was 
taken  possession  of  by  the  lord  of  the  domain  and  his  vassals. 
The  moment  in  which  industry  commenced  its  career,  was 
precisely  that  in  which  security  was  most  wanting.  Nothing 
is  more  galling  to  an  active  spirit,  than  to  be  deprived  of  the 
long-anticipated  pleasure  of  enjoying  the  fruits  of  his  indus- 
try. When  robbed  of  this,  he  is  far  more  irritated  and 
vexed  than  when  made.  to*suffer  in  a  state  of  being  fixed 
and  monotonous,  than  when  that  which  is  torn  from  him  is 
not  the  fruit  of  his  own  activity,  has  not  excited  in  him  all 
the  joys  of  hope.  There  is  in  the  progressive  movement, 
which  elevates  a  man  of  a  population  toward  a  new  fortune, 
a  spirit  of  resistance  against  iniquity  and  violence  much  more 
energetic  than  in  any  other  situation. 

Such,  then,  was  the  state  of  cities  during  the  course  of 
the  tenth  century.  They  possessed  more  strength,  more 
importance,  more  wealth,  more  interests  to  defend.  At  the 
same  time,  it  became  more  necessary  than  ever  to  defend 
■them,  for  these  interests,  their  wealth  and  their  strength, 
became  objects  of  desire  to  the  nobles.  With  the.  means  of 
resistance,  the  danger  and  difficulty  increased  also.  Besides, 
the  feudal  system  gave  to  all  connected  with  it  a  perpetual 
example  of  resistance;  the  idea  of  an  organized  energetic 
government,  capable  of  keeping  society  in  order  and  regu- 
larity by  its  intervention,  had  never  presented  itself  to  the 
spirits  of  that  period.  On  the  contrary,  there  was  a  per- 
petual recurrence  of  individual  will,  refusing  to  submit  to 
authority.  Such  was  the  conduct  of  the  major  part  of  the 
holders  of  fiefs  toward  their  suzerains,  of  the  small  pro- 
prietors of  land  to  the  greater;  so  that  at  the  very  time 
when  the  cities  were  oppressed  and  tormented,  at  the 
moment  v/hen  they  had  new  and  greater  interests  to  sustain, 
they  had  before  their  eyes  a  continual  lesson  of  insurrection. 
The  feudal  system  rendered  this  service  to  mankind — it  has 
constantly  exhibited  individual  will,  displaying  itself  in  all 
its  power  and  energy.  The  lesson  prospered;  in  spite  of 
their  weakness,  in  spite  of  the  prodigious  inequality  which 
existed  between  them  and  the  great  proprietors,  their  lords, 
the  cities  everywhere  broke  out  into  rebellion  against  them. 


CIVILIZATION    IN    MODERN    EUROPE,  I37 

It  is  difficult  to  fix  a  precise  date  to  this  great  event — this 
general  insurrection  of  the  cities.  The  commencement  of 
their  enfranchisement  is  usually  placed  at  the  beginning  of 
the  eleventh  century.  But  in  all  great  events,  how  many 
unknown  and  disastrous  efforts  must  have  been  made  before 
the  successful  one!  Providence,  upon  all  occasions,  in  order 
to  accomplish  its  designs,  is  prodigal  of  courage,  virtues, 
sacrifices — finally,  of  man;  and  it  is  only  after  a  vast  number 
of  unknown  attempts  apparently  lost,  after  a  host  of  noble 
hearts  have  fallen  into  despair — convinced  that  their  cause 
was  lost — that  it  triumphs.  Such,  no  doubt,  was  the  case  in 
the  struggle  of  the  free  cities.  Doubtless  in  the  eighth, 
ninth,  and  tenth  centuries  there  were  many  attempts  at  re- 
sistance, many  efforts  made  for  freedom: — many  attempts  to 
escape  from  bondage,  which  not  only  were  unsuccessful,  but 
the  remembrance  of  which,  from  their  ill  success,  has  re- 
mained without  glory.  Still  we  may  rest  assured  that  these 
attempts  had  a  vast  influence  upon  succeeding  events:  they 
kept  alive  and  maintained  the  spirit  of  liberty — they  prepared 
the  great  insurrection  of  the  eleventh  century. 

I  say  insurrection,  and  I  say  it  advisedly.  The  enfran- 
chisement of  the  towns  or  communities  in  the  eleventh  cen- 
tury was  the  fruit  of  a  real  insurrection,  of  a  real  war — a 
war  declared  by  the  population  of  the  cities  against  their 
lords.  The  first  fact  which  we  always  meet  with  in  annals 
of  this  nature,  is  the  rising  of  the  burgesses,  who  seize  what- 
ever arms  they  can  lay  their  hands  on; — it  is  the  expulsion  of 
the  people  of  the  lord,  who  come  for  the  purpose  of  levying 
contributions,  some  extortion;  it  is  an  enterprise  against  the 
neighboring  castle; — such  is  always  the  character  of  the  war. 
If  the  insurrection  fails,  what  does  the  conqueror  instantly 
do?  He  orders  the  destruction  of  the  fortifications  erected 
by  the  citizens,  not  only  around  their  city,  but  also  around 
each  dwelling.  We  see  that  at  the  very  moment  of  con- 
federation, after  having  promised  to  act  in  common,  after 
having  taken,  in  common,  the  corporation  oath,  the  first  act 
of  each  citizen  was  to  put  this  own  house  in  a  state  of  resist- 
ance. Some  towns,  the  names  of  which  are  now  almost  for- 
gotten— the  little  community  of  Vezelai,  in  Nevers,  for 
example — sustained  against  their  lord  a  long  and  obstinate 
struggle.  At  length  victory  declared  for  the  Abbot  of 
Vezelai;  upon  the  spot  he  ordered  the  demolition  of  the  for- 
tifications of  the  houses  of  the  citizens;  and  the  names  of 
many  of  the  heroes,  whose  fortified  houses  were  then  de- 
stroyed, are  still  preserved. 


138  GENERAL    HISTORY    OF 

Let  US  enter  the  interior  of  these  habitations  of  our  an- 
cestors; let  us  examine  the  form  of  their  construction,  and 
the  mode  of  life  which  this  reveals:  all  is  devoted  to  war, 
everything  is  impressed  with  its  character. 

The  construction  of  the  house  of  a  citizen  of  the  twelfth 
century,  so  far,  at  least,  as  we  can  now  obtain  an  idea  of  it, 
was  something  of  this  kind:  it  consisted  usually  of  three 
stories,  one  room  in  each;  that  on  the  ground  floor  served 
as  a  general  eating  room  for  the  family;  the  first  story  was 
much  elevated  for  the  sake  of  security,  and  this  is  the  most 
remarkable  circumstance  in  the  construction.  The  room  in 
this  story  was  the  habitation  of  the  master  of  the  house  and 
his  wife.  The  house  was,  in  general,  flanked  with  an  angular 
tower,  usually  square:  another  symptom  of  war;  another 
means  of  defence.  The  second  story  consisted  again  of  a 
single  room;  its  use  is  not  known,  but  it  probably  served  for 
the  children  and  domestics.  Above  this  in  most  houses,  was 
a  small  platform,  evidently  intended  as  an  observatory  or 
watch-tower.  Every  feature  of  the  building  bore  the  appear- 
ance of  war.  This  was  the  decided  character,  the  true  name 
of  the  movement,  which  wrought  out  the  freedom  of  the 
cities. 

After  a  war  has  continued  a  certain  time,  whatever  may 
be  the  belligerent  parties,  it  naturally  leads  to  a  peace.  The 
treaties  of  peace  between  the  cities  and  their  adversaries 
were  so  many  charters.  These  charters  of  the  cities  were 
so  many  positive  treaties  of  peace  between  the  burgesses  and 
their  lords. 

The  insurrection  was  general.  When  I  sdiy  general,  I  do 
not  mean  that  there  was  any  concerted  plan,  that  there  was 
any  coalition  between  all  the  burgesses  of  a  country;  nothing 
like  it  took  place.  But  the  situation  of  all  the  towns  being 
nearly  the  same,  they  all  were  liable  to  the  same  danger;  a 
prey  to  the  same  disasters.  Having  acquired  similar  means 
of  resistance  and  defence,  they  made  use  of  those  means  at 
nearly  the  same  time.  It  may  be  possible,  also,  that  the 
force  of  example  did  something;  that  the  success  of  one  or 
two  communities  was  contagious.  Sometimes  the  charters 
appear  to  have  been  drawn  up  from  the  same  model;  for  in- 
stance, that  of  Noyon  served  as  a  pattern  for  those  of 
Beauvais,  St.  Quentin,  and  others;  I  doubt,  however, 
whether  example  had  so  great  an  influence  as  is  generally 
conjectured.  Communication  between  different  provinces 
was  difficult  and  of  rare  occurrence;  the   intelligence  con- 


CIVILIZATION    IN    MODERN    EUROPE.  I39 

ve)"ed  and  received  by  hearsay  and  general  report  was  vague 
and  uncertain;  and  there  is  much  reason  for  beheving  that 
the  insurrection  was  rather  the  result  of  a  similarity  of  situa- 
tion and  of  a  general  spontaneous  movement.  When  I  say 
general,  I  wish  to  be  understood  simply  as  saying  that  insur- 
rections took  place  everywhere;  they  did  not,  I  repeat,  spring 
from  any  unanimous  concerted  movement:  all  was  particu- 
lar, local;  each  community  rebelled  on  its  own  account, 
against  its  own  lord,  unconnected  with  any  other  place. 

The  vicissitudes  of  the  struggle  w^ere  great.  Not  only 
did  success  change  from  one  side  to  the  other,  but  even  after 
peace  was  in  appearance  concluded,  after  the  charter  had 
been  solemnly  sworn  to  by  both  parties,  they  violated  and 
eluded  its  articles  in  all  sorts  of  ways.  Kings  acted  a  promi- 
nent part  in  the  alternations  of  these  struggles.  I  shall 
speak  of  these  more  in  detail  when  I  come  to  royalty  itself. 
Too  much  has  probably  been  said  of  the  effects  of  royal  in- 
fluence upon  the  struggles  of  the  people  for  freedom.  These 
effects  have  been  often  contested,  sometimes  exaggerated, 
and  in  my  opinion,  sometimes  greatly  underrated.  I  shall 
here  confine  myself  to  the  assertion  that  royalty  was  often 
called  upon  to  interfere  in  these  contests,  sometimes  by  the 
cities,  sometimes  by  their  lords;  and  that  it  played  very  dif- 
ferent parts;  acting  now  upon  one  principle,  and  soon  after 
upon  another;  that  it  was  ever  changing  its  intentions,  its 
designs,  and  its  conduct;  but  that,  taking  it  altogether,  it  did 
much,  and  produced  a  greater  portion  of  good  than  of  evil. 

In  spite  of  all  these  vicissitudes,  notwithstanding  the  per- 
petual violation  of  charters  in  the  twelfth  century — the  free- 
dom of  the  cities  was  consummated.  Europe,  and  particu- 
larly France,  which,  during  a  whole  century,  had  abounded 
in  insurrections,  now  abounded  in  charters;  cities  rejoiced 
in  them  with  more  or  less  security,  but  still  they  rejoiced; 
the  event  succeeded,  and  the  right  was  acknowledged. 

Let  us  now  endeavor  to  ascertain  the  more  immediate 
results  of  this  great  fact,  and  what  changes  it  produced  in 
the  situation  of  the  burgesses  as  regarded  society. 

And,  at  first,  as  regards  the  relations  of  the  burgesses 
with  the  general  government  of  the  country,  or  with  what 
we  now  call  the  state,  it  effected  nothing;  they  took  no  part 
in  this  more  than  before;  all  remained  local,  enclosed  within 
the  limits  of  the  fief. 


140  GENERAL    HISTORY    OF 

One  circumstance,  however,  renders  this  assertion  not 
strictly  true:  a  connexion  now  began  to  be  formed  between 
the  cities  and  the  king.  At  one  time  the  people  called  upon 
the  king  for  support  and  protection,  or  solicited  him  to 
guaranty  the  charter  which  had  been  promised  or  sworn  to. 
At  another  the  barons  invoked  the  judicial  interference  of 
the  king  between  them  and  the  burgesses.  At  the  request 
of  one  or  other  of  the  two  parties,  from  a  multitude  of  vari- 
ous causes,  royalty  was  called  upon  to  interfere  in  the  quar- 
rel, whence  resulted  a  frequent  and  close  connexion  between 
the  citizens  and  the  king.  In  consequence  of  this  connexion 
the  cities  became  a  part  of  the  state,  they  began  to  have 
relations  with  the  general  governmnt. 

Although  all  still  remained  local,  yet  a  new  general  class 
of  society  became  formed  by  the  enfranchisement  of  the 
commons.  No  coalition  of  the  burgesses  of  different  cities 
had  taken  place;  as  yet  they  had  as  a  class  no  public  or 
general  existence.  But  the  country  was  covered  with  men 
engaged  in  similar  pursuits,  possessing  the  same  views  and 
interests,  the  same  manners  and  customs;  between  whom 
there  could  not  fail  to  be  gradually  formed  a  certain  tie,  from 
which  originated  the  general  class  of  burgesses.  This  for- 
mation of  a  great  social  class  was  the  necessary  result  of  the 
local  enfranchisement  of  the  burgesses.  It  must  not,  how- 
ever, be  supposed  that  the  class  of  which  we  are  speaking 
was  then  what  it  has  since  become.  Not  only  is  its  situation 
greatly  changed,  but  its  elements  are  totally  different.  In 
the  twelfth  century,  this  class  was  almost  entirely  composed 
of  merchants  or  small  traders,  and  little  landed  or  house 
proprietors  who  had  taken  up  their  residence  in  the  city. 
Three  centuries  afterward  there  were  added  to  this  class 
lawyers,  physicians,  men  of  letters,  and  the  local  magistrates. 
The  class  of  burgesses  was  formed  gradually  and  of  very 
different  elements:  history  gives  us  no  accurate  account  of 
its  progress,  nor  of  its  diversity.  When  the  body  of  citizens 
is  spoken  of,  it  is  erroneously  conjectured  to  have  been,  at 
all  times,  composed  of  the  same  elements.  Absurd  suppo- 
sition! It  is,  perhaps,  in  the  diversity  of  its  composition  at 
different  periods  of  history  that  we  should  seek  to  discover 
the  secret  of  its  destiny;  so  long  as  it  was  destitute  of  magis- 
trates and  of  men  of  letters,  so  long  it  remained  totally  un- 
like what  it  became  in  the  sixteenth  century;  as  regards  the 
state,  it  neither  possessed  the  same  character  nor  the  same 
importance.     In  order  to  form  a  just  idea  of  the  changes  in 


CIVILIZATION    IN    MODERN    EUROPE.  141 

the  rank  and  influence  of  this  portion  of  society,  we  must 
take  a  view  of  the  new  professions,  the  new  moral  situations, 
of  the  new  intellectual  state  which  gradually  arose  within  it. 
In  the  twelfth  century,  I  must  repeat,  the  body  of  citizens 
consisted  only  of  small  merchants  or  traders,  who,  after  hav- 
ing finished  their  purchases  and  sales,  retired  to  their  houses 
in  the  city  or  town;  and  of  little  proprietors  of  houses  or 
lands  who  had  there  taken  up  their  residence.  Such  was  the 
European  class  of  citizens,  in  its  primary  elements. 

The  third  great  result  of  the  enfranchisement  of  the 
cities  was  the  struggle  of  classes;  a  struggle  which  consti- 
tutes the  very  fact  of  modern  history,  and  of  which  it  is  full. 

Modern  Europe,  indeed,  is  born  of  this  struggle  between 
the  different  classes  of  society.  I  have  already  shown  that 
in  other  places  this  struggle  has  been  productive  of  very 
different  consequences;  in  Asia,  for  example,  one  particular 
class  has  completely  triumphed,  and  the  system  of  castes 
has  succeeded  to  that  of  classes,  and  society  has  there  fallen 
into  a  state  of  immobility.  Nothing  of  this  kind,  thank 
God!  has  taken  place  in  Europe.  One  of  the  classes  has 
not  conquered,  has  not  brought  the  others  into  subjection; 
no  class  has  been  able  to  overcome,  to  subjugate  the  others; 
the  struggle,  instead  of  rendering  society  stationary,  has 
been  a  principal  cause  of  its  progress;  the  relations  of  the 
different  classes  with  one  another;  the  necessity  of  combating 
and  of  yielding  b}^  turns;  the  variety  of  interests,  passions, 
and  excitements;  the  desire  to  conquer  without  the  power 
to  do  so:  from  all  this  has  probably  sprung  the  most  ener- 
getic, the  most  productvie  principle  of  development  in 
European  civilization.  This  struggle  of  the  classes  has  been 
constant;  enmity  has  grown  up  between  them;  the  infinite 
diversity  of  situation,  of  interests,  and  of  manners,  has  pro- 
duced a  strong  moral  hostility;  yet  they  have  progressively 
approached,  assimilated,  and  understood  each  other;  every 
country  of  Europe  has  seen  arise  and  develop  itself  within 
a  certain  public  mind,  a  certain  community  of  interests,  of 
ideas,  of  sentiments,  which  have  triumphed  over  this  diversity 
and  war.  In  France,  for  example,  in  the  seventeenth  and 
eighteenth  centuries,  the  moral  and  social  separation  of 
classes  was  still  very  profound,  yet  there  can  be  no  doubt 
but  that  their  fusion,  even  then,  was  far  advanced;  that  even 
then  there  was  a  real  French  nation,  not  consisting  of  any 
class  exclusively,  but  of  a  commixture  of  the  whole;  all 
animated  with  the  same  feeling,  actuated  by  one  common 


142  GENERAL    HISTORY    OF 

social  principle,  firmly  knit  together  by  the  bond  of  nation- 
ality. 

Thus,  from  the  bosom  of  variety,  enmity,  and  discord, 
has  issued  that  national  unity,  now  become  so  conspicuous 
in  modern  Europe;  that  nationality  whose  tendency  is  to 
develop  and  purify  itself  more  and  more,  and  every  day  to 
increase  its  splendor. 

Such  are  the  great,  the  important,  the  conspicuous  social 
eftects  of  the  revolution  which  now  occupies  our  attention. 
Let  us  now  endeavor  to  show  what  were  its  moral  effects, 
what  changes  it  produced  in  the  minds  of  the  citizens  them- 
selves, what  they  became  in  consequence,  and  what  they 
should  morally  become,  in  their  new  situation. 

When  we  take  into  our  consideration  the  connexion  of 
the  citizens  with  the  state  in  general,  with  the  government 
of  the  state,  and  with  the  interests  of  the  country,  as  that 
connexion  existed  not  only  in  the  twelfth  century,  but  also  in 
after  ages,  there  is  one  circumstance  which  must  strike  us 
most  forcibly:  I  mean  the  extraordinary  mental  timidity  of 
the  citizens:  their  humility;  the  excessive  modesty  of  their 
pretensions  to  a  right  of  interference  in  the  government  of 
their  country;  and  the  little  matter  that,  in  this  respect,  con- 
tented them.  Nothing  was  to  be  seen  in  them  which  dis- 
covered that  genuine  political  feeling  which  aspires  to  the 
possession  of  influence,  and  to  the  power  of  reforming  and 
governing;  nothing  attests  in  them  either  energy  of  mind, 
or  loftiness  of  ambition;  one  feels  ready  to  exclaim.  Poor, 
prudent,  simple-hearted  citizens! 

There  are  not,  properly,  more  than  two  sources  whence, 
in  the  political  world,  can  flow  loftiness  of  ambition  and 
energy  of  mind.  There  must  be  either  the  feeling  of  pos- 
sessing a  great  importance,  a  great  power  over  the  destiny 
of  others,  and  this  over  a  large  sphere;  or  there  must  be  in 
one's  self  a  powerful  feeling  of  personal  independence,  the 
assurance  of  one's  own  liberty,  the  consciousness  of  having 
a  destiny  with  which  no  will  can  intermeddle  beyond  that  in 
one's  own  bosom.  To  one  or  other  of  these  two  conditions 
seem  to  be  attached  energy  of  mind,  the  loftiness  of  ambi- 
tion, the  desire  to  act  in  a  large  sphere,  and  to  obtain  cor- 
responding results. 

Neither  of  these  conditions  is  to  be  found  in  the  situation 
of  the  burgesses  of  the  middle  ages.  These  were,  as  we 
have  just  seen,  only  important  to  themselves;  except  within 
the  walls  of  their  own  city,  their   influence  amounted  to  but 


CIVILIZATION    IN    MODERN    EUROPE.  I43 

little;  as  regarded  the  state,  to  almost  nothing.  Nor  could 
they  be  possessed  of  any  great  feeling  of  personal  indepen- 
dence: their  having  conquered — their  having  obtained  a 
character  did  but  little  in  the  way  of  promoting  this  noble 
sentiment.  The  burgess  of  a  city,  comparing  himself  with 
the  little  baron  who  dwelt  near  him,  and  who  had  just  been 
vanquished  by  him,  would  still  be  sensible  of  his  own 
extreme  inferiority;  he  was  ignorant  of  that  proud  sentiment 
of  independence  which  animated  the  proprietor  of  a  fief;  the 
share  of  freedom  which  he  possessed  was  not  derived  from 
himself  alone,  but  from  his  association  with  others — from 
the  difficult  and  precarious  succor  which  they  afforded. 
Hence  that  retiring  disposition,  that  timidity  of  mind,  that 
trembling  shyness,  that  humility  of  speech  (though  perhaps 
coupled  with  firmness  of  purpose)  which  is  so  deeply  stamped 
on  the  character  of  the  burgesses,  not  only  of  the  twelfth 
century,  but  even  of  their  most  remote  descendants.  They 
had  no  taste  for  great  enterprises;  if  chance  pushed  them 
into  such,  they  became  vexed  and  embarrassed;  any  respon- 
sibility was  a  burden  to  them;  they  felt  themselves  out  of 
their  sphere,  and  endeavored  to  return  into  it;  they  treated 
upon  easy  terms.  Thus,  in  running  over  the  history  of 
Europe,  and  especially  of  France,  we  may  occasionally  find 
municipal  communities  esteemed,  consulted,  perhaps  re- 
spected, but  rarely  feared;  they  seldom  impressed  their 
adversaries  with  the  notion  that  they  were  a  great  and  for- 
midable power,  a  power  truly  political.  There  is  nothing 
to  be  astonished  at  in  the  weakness  of  the  modern  burgess; 
the  great  cause  of  it  -may  be  traced  to  his  origin,  in  those 
circumstances  of  his  enfranchisement  which  I  have  just 
placed  before  you.  The  loftiness  of  ambition,  independent 
of  social  conditions,  breadth  and  boldness  of  political  views, 
the  desire  to  be  employed  in  public  affairs,  the  full  conscious- 
ness of  the  greatness  of  man,  considered  as  such,  and  of  the 
power  that  belongs  to  him,  if  he  be  capable  of  exercising  it; 
it  is  these  sentiments,  these  dispositions,  which,  of  entirely 
modern  growth  in  Europe,  are  the  offspring  of  modern 
civilization,  and  of  that  glorious  and  powerful  generality 
which  characterizes  it,  and  which  will  never  fail  to  secure  to 
the  public  an  influence,  a  weight  in  the  government  of  the 
country,  that  were  constantly  wanting,  and  deservedly  want- 
ing, to  the  burgesses  our  ancestors. 

As  a  set-off  to  this,  in  the  contests  which  they  had  to 
sustain  respecting  their  local  interests — in  this  narrow  field, 


144  GENERAL    HISTORY    OF 

they  acquired  and  displayed  a  degree  of  energy,  devoted- 
ness,  perseverance,  and  patience,  which  has  never  been  sur- 
passed. The  difficulty  of  the  enterprise  was  so  great,  they 
had  to  struggle  against  such  perils,  that  a  display  of  courage 
almost  beyond  example  became  necessary.  Our  notions  of 
the  burgess  of  the  twelfth  and  thirteenth  centuries,  and  of 
his  life,  are  very  erroneous.  The  picture  which  Sir  Walter 
Scott  has  drawn  in  Quentin  Durivard  of  the  burgomaster  of 
Liege,  fat,  inactive,  without  experience,  without  daring,  and 
caring  for  nothing  but  passing  his  life  in  ease  and  enjoy- 
ment, is  only  fitted  for  the  stage;  the  real  burgess  of  that 
■day  had  a  coat  of  mail  continually  on  his  back,  a  pike  con- 
stantly in  his  hand;  his  life  was  nearly  as  stormy,  as  warlike, 
,as  rigid  as  that  of  the  nobles  with  whom  he  contended.  It 
was  in  these  every-day  perils,  in  combating  the  varied  dan- 
gers of  practical  life,  that  he  acquired  that  bold  and  mascu- 
line character,  that  determined  exertion,  which  have  become 
more  rare  in  the  softer  activity  of  modern  times. 

None,  however,  of  these  social  and  moral  effects  of  the 
enfranchisement  of  corporations  became  fully  developed  in 
the  twelfth  century;  it  is  only  in  the  course  of  the  two  fol- 
lowing centuries  that  they  showed  themselves  so  as  to  be 
clearly  discerned.  It  is  nevertheless  certain  that  the  seeds 
of  these  effects  existed  in  the  primary  situation  of  the  com- 
mons, in  the  mode  of  their  enfranchisement,  and  in  the 
position  which  the  burgesses  from  that  time  took  in  society; 
I  think,  therefore,  that  I  have  done  right  in  bringing  these 
circumstances  before  you  to-day. 

Let  us  now  penetrate  into  the  interior  of  one  of  those 
corporate  cities  of  the  twelfth  century,  that  we  may  see  how 
it  was  governed,  that  we  may  now  see  what  principles  and 
what  facts  prevailed  in  the  relations  of  the  burgesses  with 
one  another.  It  must  be  remembered,  that  in  speaking  of 
the  municipal  system  bequeathed  by  the  Roman  empire  to 
the  modern  world,  I  took  occasion  to  say,  that  the  Roman 
world  was  a  great  coalition  of  municipalities,  which  had  pre- 
viously been  as  sovereign  and  independent  as  Rome  itself. 
Each  of  these  cities  had  formerly  been  in  the  same  condition 
as  Rome,  a  little  free  republic,  making  peace  and  war,  and 
governing  itself  by  its  own  will.  As  fast  as  these  became 
incorporated  into  the  Roman  world,  those  rights  which  con- 
stitute sovereignty — the  right  of  war  and  peace,  of  legisla- 
tion, taxation,  etc. — were  transferred  from  each  city  to  the 
central  government  at  Rome.      There  remained  then  but 


CIVILIZATION    IN    MODERN    EUROPE.  I45 

one  municipal  sovereignty.  Rome  reigned  over  a  vast 
number  of  municipalities,  which  had  nothing  left  beyond  a 
civic  existence.  The  municipal  system  became  essentially 
changed:  it  was  no  longer  a  political  government,  but  simply 
a  mode  of  administration.  This  was  the  grand  revolution 
which  was  consummated  under  the  Roman  empire.  The 
municipal  system  became  a  mode  of  administration;  it  was 
reduced  to  the  government  of  local  affairs,  to  the  civic  in- 
terests of  the  city.  This  is  the  state  in  which  the  Roman 
empire,  at  its  fall,  left  the  cities  and  their  institutions.  Dur- 
ing the  chaos  of  barbarism,  notions  and  facts  of  all  sorts 
became  embroiled  and  confused;  the  various  attributes  of 
sovereignty  and  administration  were  confounded.  Distinc- 
tions of  this  nature  were  no  longer  regarded.  Affairs  were 
suffered  to  run  on  in  the  course  dictated  by  necessity.  The 
municipalities  became  sovereigns  or  administrators  in  the 
various  places,  as  need  might  require.  Where  cities  rebelled, 
they  re-assumed  the  sovereignty,  for  the  sake  of  security, 
not  out  of  respect  for  any  political  theory,  nor  from  any 
\feeling  of  their  dignity,  but  that  they  might  have  the  means 
of  contending  with  the  nobles,  whose  yoke  they  had  thrown 
off;  that  they  might  take  upon  themselves  the  right  to  call 
out  the  militia,  to  tax  themselves  to  support  the  war, 'to  name 
their  own  chiefs  and  magistrates;  in  a  word,  to  govern  them- 
selves. The  internal  government  of  the  city  was  their 
means  of  defence,  of  security.  Thus,  sovereignty  again  re- 
turned to  the  municipal  system,  which  had  been  deprived  of 
it  by  the  conquests  of  Rome.  City  corporations  again  be- 
came sovereigns.  This  is  the  political  characteristic  of  their 
enfranchisement. 

I  do  not,  however,  mean  to  assert,  that  this  sovereignty 
was  complete.  Some  trace  of  an  exterior  sovereignty  always 
may  be  found;  sometimes  it  w^as  the  baron  who  retained  the 
right  to  send  a  magistrate  into  the  city,  with  whom  the 
municipal  magistrates  acted  as  assessors;  perhaps  he  had 
the  right  to  collect  certain  revenues;  in  some  cases  a  fixed 
tribute  was  assured  to  him  Sometimes  the  exterior  sove- 
reignty of  the  community  was  in  the  hands  of  the  king. 

The  cities  themselves,  in  their  turn,  entered  into  the 
feudal  system;  they  had  vassals,  and  became  suzerains;  and 
by  this  title  possessed  ?hat  portion  of  sovereignty  which  was 
inherent  in  the  suzerainty.  A  great  confusion  arose  between 
the  rights  which  they  held  from  their  feudal  position,  and 
those  which  they  had  acquired  by  their  insurrection;  and  by 
this  double  title  they  held  the  sovereignty. 


146  GENERAL    HISTORY    OF 

Let  US  see,  as  far  as  the  very  scanty  sources  left  us  will 
allow,  how  the  internal  government  of  the  cities,  at  least  in 
the  more  early  times,  was  managed.  The  entire  body  of  the 
inhabitants  formed  the  communal  assembly:  all  those  who 
had  taken  the  communal  oath — and  all  who  dwelt  within  the 
walls  were  obliged  to  do  so — were  summoned,  by  the  tolling 
of  the  bell,  to  the  general  assembly.  In  this  were  named 
the  magistrates.  The  number  chosen,  and  the  power  and 
proceedings  of  the  magistrates,  differed  very  considerably. 
After  choosing  the  magistrates,  the  assemblies  dissolved; 
and  the  magistrates  governed  almost  alone,  sufficiently 
arbitrarily,  being  under  no  further  responsibility  than  the 
new  elections,  or,  perhaps,  popular  outbreaks,  which  were, 
at  this  time,  the  great  guarantee  for  good  government. 

You  will  observe  that  the  internal  organization  of  the 
municipal  towns  is  reduced  to  two  very  simple  elements,  the 
general  assembly  of  the  inhabitants,  and  a  government  in- 
vested with  almost  arbitrary  power,  under  the  responsibility 
of  insurrections — general  outbreaks.  It  was  impossible, 
especially  while  such  manners  prevailed,  to  establish  any- 
thing like  a  regular  government,  with  proper  guarantees  of 
order  and  duration.  The  greater  part  of  the  population  of 
these  cities  were  ignorant,  brutal,  and  savage  to  a  degree 
which  rendered  them  exceedingly  difficult  to  govern.  At 
the  end  of  a  very  short  period,  there  was  but  little  more 
security  within  these  communities  than  there  had  been,  pre- 
viously, in  the  relations  of  the  burgesses  within  the  baron. 
There  soon,  however,  became  formed  a  burgess  aristocracy. 
The  causes  of  this  are  easily  understood.  The  notions  of 
that  day,  coupled  with  certain  social  relations,  led  to  the 
establishment  of  trading  companies  legally  constituted.  A 
system  of  privileges  became  introduced  into  the  interior  of 
the  cities,  and,  in  the  end,  a  great  inequality.  There  soon 
grew  up  in  all  of  them  a  certain  number  of  considerable, 
opulent  burgesses,  and  a  population,  more  or  less  numerous, 
of  workmen,  who,  notwithstanding  their  inferiority,  had  no 
small  influence  in  the  affairs  of  the  community.  The  free 
cities  thus  became  divided  into  an  upper  class  of  burgesses, 
and  a  population  subject  to  all  the  errors,  all  the  vices  of  a 
mob.  The  superior  citizens  thus  f(Tund  themselves  pressed 
between  two  great  difficulties:  first,  the  arduous  one  of 
governing  this  inferior  turbulent  population;  and,  secondly, 
that  of  withstanding  the  continual  attempts  of  the  ancient 
master  of  the  borough,  who  sought  to  regain  his  former 


CIVILIZATION    IN    MODERN    EUROPE.  I47 

power.  Such  was  the  situation  of  their  affairs,  not  only  in 
France,  but  in  Europe,  down  to  the  sixteenth  century. 
This,  perhaps,  is  the  cause  which  prevented  these  communi- 
ties from  taking,  in  several  countries  of  Europe,  and  espe- 
cially in  France,  that  high  political  station  which  seemed 
properly  to  belong  to  them.  Two  spirits  were  unceasingly 
at  work  within  them:  among  the  inferior  population,  a  blind, 
licentious,  furious  spirit  of  democracy;  among  the  superior 
burgesses,  a  spirit  of  timidity,  uf  caution,  and  an  excessive 
desire  to  accommodate  all  differences,  whether  with  the 
king,  or  with  its  ancient  proprietors,  so  as  to  preserve  peace 
and  order  in  the  bosom  of  the  community.  Neither  of  these 
spirits  could  raise  the  cities  to  a  high  rank  in  the  state. 

All  these  effects  did  not  become  apparent  in  the  twelfth 
century;  still  we  may  foresee  them,  even  in  the  character  of 
the  insurrection,  in  the  manner  in  which  it  broke  out,  in  the 
stace  of  the  different  elements  of  the  city  population. 

Such,  if  I  mistake  not,  are  the  principal  characteristics, 
the  general  results,  both  of  the  enfranchisement  of  the  cities 
and  of  their  internal  government.  I  have  already  premised, 
that  these  facts  were  not  so  uniform,  not  so  universal,  as  I 
have  represented  them.  There  are  great  diversities  in  the 
history  of  the  European  free  cities.  In  the  south  of  France 
and  in  Italy,  for  example,  the  Roman  municipal  system  pre- 
vailed; the  population  was  not  nearly  so  divided,  so  unequal, 
as  in  the  north.  Here,  also,  the  municipal  organization 
was  much  better;  perhaps  the  effect  of  Roman  traditions, 
perhaps  of  the  better  state  of  the  population.  In  the  north, 
it  was  the  feudal  system  that  prevailed  in  the  city  arrange- 
ments. Here  all  seemed  subordinate  to  the  struggle  against 
the  barons.  The  cities  of  the  south  paid  much  more  regard 
to  their  internal  constitution,  to  the  work  of  melioration  and 
progress.  We  see,  from  the  beginning,  that  they  will  be- 
come free  republics.  The  career  of  those  of  the  north,  above 
all  those  of  France,  showed  itself,  from  the  first,  more  rude, 
more  incomplete,  destined  to  less  perfect,  less  beautiful 
developments.  If  we  run  over  those  of  Germany,  Spain, 
and  England,  we  shall  find  among  them  many  other  differ- 
ences. -  I  cannot  particularize  them,  but  shall  notice  some  of 
them,  as  we  advance  in  the  history  of  civilization.  All  things 
at  their  origin  are  nearly  confounded  in  one  and  the  same 
physiognomy;  it  is  only  in  their  after-growth  that  their 
variety  shows  itself.  Then  begins  a  new  development  which 
urges  forward  societies  toward  that  free  and  lofty  unity,  the 
glorious  object  of  the  efforts  and  wishes  of  mankind. 


.  LECTURE   VIII. 

SKETCH  OF  EUROPEAN  CIVILIZATION — STATE  OF  EUROPE 
FROM  THE  TWELFTH  TO  THE  FOURTEENTH  CENTURIES 
THE    CRUSADES. 

I  HAVE  not  yet  laid  before  you  the  whole  plan  of  my 
course.  I  began  by  pointing  out  its  object,  and  I  then  went 
straight  forward,  without  taking  any  comprehensive  view  of 
European  civilization,  and  without  indicating  at  once  its 
starting-point,  its  path,  and  its  goal — its  beginning,  middle, 
and  end.  We  are  now,  however,  arrived  at  a  period  when 
this  comprehensive  view,  this  general  outline,  of  the  world 
through  which  we  travel,  becomes  necessary.  The  times 
which  have  hitherto  been  the  subject  of  our  study,  are  ex- 
plained in  some  measure  by  themselves,  or  by  clear  and  im- 
mediate results.  The  times  into  which  we  are  about  to  enter 
can  neither  be  understood  nor  excite  any  strong  interest, 
unless  we  connect  them  with  their  most  indirect  and  remote 
consequences.  In  an  inquiry  of  such  vast  extent,  a  time 
arrives  when  we  can  no  longer  submit  to  go  forward  with  a 
dark  and  unknown  path  before  us;  when  we  desire  to  know 
not  only  whence  we  have  come  and  where  we  are,  but  whither 
we  are  going.  This  is  now  the  case  with  us.  The  period 
which  we  approach  cannot  be  understood,  or  its  importance 
appreciated,  unless  by  means  of  the  relations  which  connect 
it  with  modern  times.  Its  true  spirit  has  been  revealed  only 
by  the  lapse  of  many  subsequent  ages. 

We  are  in  possession  of  almost  all  the  essential  elements 
of  European  civilization.  I  say  almost  all,  because  I  have 
not  yet  said  anything  on  the  subject  of  monarchy.  The 
crisis  which  decidedly  developed  the  monarchical  principle, 
hardly  took  place  before  the  twelfth  or  even  the  thirteenth 
century.  It  was  then  only  that  the  institution  of  monarchy 
was  really  established,  and  began  to  occupy  a  definite  place 
in  modern  society.  It  is  on  this  account  that  I  have  not 
sooner  entered  on  the  subject.  With  this  exception  we  pos- 
sess, I  repeat  it,  all  the  great  elements  of  European  society. 
You  have  seen  the  origin  of  the  feudal  aristocracy,  the 
Church  and  the  municipalities;  you  have  observed  the  insti- 


CIVILIZATION    IN    MODERN    EUROPE.  I49 

tutions  which  would  naturally  correspond  with  these  facts; 
and  not  only  the  institutions,  but  the  principles  and  ideas 
which  these  facts  naturally  give  rise  to.  Thus,  with  refer- 
ence to  feudalism,  you  have  watched  the  origin  of  modern 
domestic  life;  you  have  comprehended,  in  all  its  energy, 
the  feeling  of  personal  independence,  and  the  place  which  it 
must  have  occupied  in  our  civilization.  With  reference  to 
the  Church,  you  have  observed  the  appearance  of  the  purely 
religious  form  of  society,  its  relations  with  civil  society,  the 
principle  of  theocracy,  the  separation  between  the  spiritual 
and  temporal  powers,  the  first  blows  of  persecution,  the  first 
cries  of  liberty  of  conscience.  The  infant  municipalities 
have  given  you  a  view  of  a  social  union  founded  on  prin- 
ciples quite  different  from  those  of  feudalism;  the  diversity 
of  the  classes  of  societ}^,  their  contests  with  each  other,  the 
first  and  strongly  marked  features  of  the  manners  of  the 
modern  inhabitants  of  towns;  timidity  of  judgment  combined 
with  energy  of  soul,  proneness  to  be  excited  by  demagogues 
joined  to  a  spirit  of  obedience  to  legal  authority;  all  the 
elements,  in  short,  which  have  concurred  in  the  formation  of 
European  society  have  already  come  under  your  observation. 

Let  us  now  transport  ourselves  into  the  heart  of  modern 
Europe;  I  do  not  mean  Europe  in  the  present  day,  after  the 
prodigious  metamorphosis  we  have  witnessed,  but  in  the 
seventeenth  and  eighteenth  centuries.  What  an  immense 
difference!  I  have  already  insisted  on  this  difference  with 
reference  to  communities;  I  have  endeavored  to  show  you 
how  little  resemblance  there  is  between  the  burgesses  of  the 
eighteenth  century  and  those  of  the  twelfth.  Make  the 
same  experiment  on  feudalism  and  the  Church,  and  you  will 
be  struck  with  a  similar  metamorphosis.  There  was  no  more 
resemblance  between  the  nobility  of  the  court  of  Louis  XV. 
and  the  feudal  aristocracy,  or  between  the  Church  in  the 
days  of  Cardinal  de  Bernis  and  those  of  the  Abbe  Suger, 
than  there  is  between  the  burgesses  of  the  eighteenth  cen- 
tury and  the  same  class  in  the  twelfth.  Between  these  two 
periods,  though  society  had  already  acquired  all  its  elements, 
it  underwent  a  total  transformation. 

I  am  now  desirous  to  trace  clearly  the  general  and  essen- 
tial character  of  this  transformation. 

From  the  fifth  century,  society  contained  all  that  I  have 
already  found  and  described  as  belonging  to  it — kings,  a  lay 


150  GENERAL    HISTORY    Of 

aristocracy,  a  clerg}^,  citizens,  husbandmen,  civil  and  reli- 
gious authorities;  the  germs,  in  short,  of  everything  neces- 
sary to  form  a  nation  and  a  government;  and  yet  there  was 
no  government,  no  nation.  In  all  the  period  that  has  occu- 
pied our  attention,  there  was  no  such  thing  as  a  people, 
properly  so  called,  or  a  government,  in  the  modern  accepta- 
tion of  the  word.  We  have  fallen  in  with  a  number  of  par- 
ticular forces,  special  facts,  and  local  institutions;  but 
nothing  general,  nothing  public,  nothing  political,  nothing, 
in  short,  like  real  nationality. 

Let  us,  on  the  other  hand,  survey  Europe  in  the  seven- 
teenth and  eighteenth  centuries:  we  everywhere  see  two 
great  objects  make  their  appearance  on  the  stage  of  the 
world— the  government  and  the  people.  The  influence  of  a 
general  power  over  an  entire  country,  and  the  influence  of  the 
country  in  the  power  which  governs  it,  are  the  materials  of 
history;  the  relations  between  these  great  forces,  their  al- 
liances or  their  contests,  are  the  subjects  of  its  narration. 
The  nobility,  the  clergy,  the  citizens,  all  these  different 
classes  and  particular  powers  are  thrown  into  the  back- 
ground, and  effaced,  as  it  were,  by  these  two  great  objects, 
the  people  and  its  government. 

This,  if  I  am  not  deceived,  is  the  essential  feature  which 
distinguishes  modern  Europe  from  the  Europe  of  the  early 
ages;  and  this  was  the  change  which  was  accomplished  be- 
tween the  thirteenth  and  the  sixteenth  century. 

It  is,  then,  in  the  period  from  the  thirteenth  to  the  six- 
teenth century,  into  which  we  are  about  to  enter,  that  we 
must  endeavor  to  find  the  cause  of  this  change.  It  is  the 
distinctive  character  of  this  period,  that  it  was  employed  in 
changing  Europe  from  its  primitive  to  its  modern  state;  and 
hence  arise  its  importance  and  historical  interest.  If  we  did 
not  consider  it  under  this  point  of  view,  if  we  did  not  en- 
deavor to  discover  the  events  which  arose  out  of  this  period, 
not  only  we  should  never  be  able  to  comprehend  it,  but  we 
should  soon  become  weary  of  the  inquiry. 

Viewed  in  itself  and  apart  from  its  results,  it  is  a  period 
without  character,  a  period  in  which  confusion  went  on  in- 
creasing without  apparent  causes,  a  period  of  movement 
without  direction,  of  agitation  without  result;  a  period  whea 
monarchy,  nobility,  clergy,  citizens,  all  the  elements  of  social 
order,  seemed  to  turn  round  in  the  same  circle,  incapable 
alike  of  progression  and  of  rest.     Experiments  of  all  kinds 


CIVILIZATION    IN    MODERN    EUROPE.  I5I 

were  made  and  failed;  endeavors  were  made  to  establish 
goverments  and  lay  the  foundations  of  public  liberty;  re- 
forms in  religion  were  even  attempted;  but  nothing  was 
accomplished  or  came  to  any  result.  If  ever  the  human 
race  seemed  destined  to  be  always  agitated,  and  yet  always 
stationary,  condemned  to  unceasing  and  yet  barren  labors,  it 
was  from  the  thirteenth  to  the  fifteenth  century  that  this  was 
the  complexion  of  its  condition  and  history. 

I  am  acquainted  only  with  one  work  in  which  this  appear- 
ance of  the  period  in  question  is  faithfully  described;  I 
allude  to  M.  de  Barante's  History  of  the  Dukes  of  Burgandy. 
I  do  not  speak  of  the  fidelity  of  his  pictures  of  manners  and 
narratives  of  adventures,  but  of  that  general  fidelity  which 
renders  the  work  an  exact  image,  a  true  mirror  of  the  whole 
period,  of  which  it  at  the  same  time  displays  both  the  agita- 
tion and  the  monotony. 

Considered,  on  the  contrary,  in  relation  to  what  has  suc- 
ceeded it,  as  the  transition  from  Europe  in  its  primitive,  to 
Europe  in  its  modern  state,  this  period  assumes  a  more  dis- 
tinct and  animated  aspect;  we  discover  in  it  a  unity  of 
design,  a  movement  in  one  direction,  a  progression;  and 
its  unity  and  interest  are  found  to  reside  in  the  slow  and 
hidden  labor  accomplished  in  the  course  of  its  duration. 

The  history  of  European  civilization,  then,  may  be 
thrown  into  three  great  periods:  first,  a  period  which  I  shall 
call  that  of  origin,  or  formation;  during  which  the  different 
elements  of  society  disengage  themselves  from  chaos,  assume 
an  existence,  and  show  themselves  in  their  native  forms, 
with  the  principles  by  which  they  are  animated;  this  period 
lasted  almost  to  the  twelfth  century.  The  second  period  is 
a  period  of  experiments,  attempts,  groping;  the  different 
elements  of  society  approach  and  enter  into  combination, 
feeling  each,  other,  as  it  were,  but  producing  anything 
general,  regular,  or  durable;  this  state  of  things,  to  say  the 
truth,  did  not  terminate  till  the  sixteenth  century.  Then 
comes  the  third  period,  or  the  period  of  development,  in 
which  human  society  in  Europe  takes  a  definite  form,  follows 
a  determinate  direction,  proceeds  rapidly  and  with  a  general 
movement,  toward  a  clear  and  precise  object;  this  is  the 
period  which  began  in  the  sixteenth  century,  and  is  now 
pursuing  its  course. 

Such  appears,  on  a  general  view,  to  be  the  aspect  of 
European  civilization.     We  are  now  about  to  enter   into  the 


152  GENERAL    HISTORY    OF 

second  of  the  above  periods;  and  we  have  to  inquire  what 
were  the  great  and  critical  events  which  occurred  during  its 
course,  and  which  were  the  determining  causes  of  the  social 
transformation  which  was  its  result. 

The  first  great  event  which  presents  itself  to  our  view, 
and  which  opened,  so  to  speak,  the  period  we  are  speaking 
of,  was  the  crusades.  They  began  at  the  end  of  the  eleventh 
century,  and  lasted  during  the  twelfth  and  thirteenth.  It 
was,  indeed,  a  great  event;  for,  since  its  occurrence,  it  has 
never  ceased  to  occupy  the  attention  of  philosophical  histo- 
rians, who  have  shown  themselves  aware  of  its  influence  in 
changing  the  conditions  of  nations,  and  of  the  necessity  of 
study  in  order  to  comprehend  the  general  course  .of  its 
facts. 

The  first  character  of  the  crusades  is  their  universality; 
all  Europe  concurred  in  them;  they  were  the  first  European 
event.  Before  the  crusades,  Europe  had  never  been  moved 
by  the  same  sentiment,  or  acted  in  a  common  cause;  till 
then,  in  fact,  Europe  did  not  exist.  The  crusades  made 
manifest  the  existence  of  Christian  Europe.  The  French 
formed  the  main  body  of  the  first  army  of  crusaders;  but 
there  were  also  Germans,  Italians,  Spaniards,  and  English. 
But  look  at  the  second  and  third  crusades,  and  we  find  all 
the  nations  of  Christendom  engaged  in  them.  The  world 
had  never  before  witnessed  a  similar  combination. 

But  this  is  not  all.  In  the  same  manner  as  the  crusades 
were  a  European  event,  so,  in  each  separate  nation,  they 
were  a  national  event.  In  every  nation,  all  classes  of  society 
were  animated  with  the  same  impression,  yielded  to  the  same 
idea,  and  abandoned  themselves  to  the  same  impulse.  Kings, 
nobles,  priests,  citizens,  country  people,  all  took  the  same 
interest  and  the  same  share  in  the  crusades.  The  moral 
unity  of  nation  was  thus  made  manifest;  a  fact  as  new  as  the 
unity  of  Europe. 

When  such  events  take  place  in  what  may  be  called  the 
youth  of  nations;  in  periods  when  they  act  spontaneously, 
freely,  without  premeditation  or  political  design,  we  recog- 
nize what  history  calls  heroic  events,  the  heroic  ages  of 
nations.  The  crusades  were  the  heroic  event  of  modern 
Europe;  a  movement  at  the  same  time  individual  and  gene- 
ral; national,  and  yet  not  under  political  direction. 


CIVILIZATION    IN    MODERN    EUROPE.  I53 

That  this  was  really  their  primitive  character  is  proved 
by  every  fact,  and  every  document.  Who  were  the  first 
crusaders?  Bands  of  people  who  set  out  under  the  conduct 
of  Peter  the  Hermit,  without  preparations,  guides,  or 
leaders,  followed  rather  than  led  by  a  few  obscure  knights, 
traversed  Germany  and  the  Greek  empire,  and  were  dis- 
persed, or  perished,  in  Asia  Minor. 

The  higher  class,  the  feudal  nobility,  next  put  themselves 
in  motion  for  the  crusade.  Under  the  command  of  Godfrey 
of  Bouillon,  the  nobles  and  their  men  departed  full  of  ardor. 
When  they  had  traversed  Asia  Minor,  the  leaders  of  the 
crusaders  were  seized  with  a  fit  of  lukewarmness  and  fatigue. 
They  became  indifferent  about  continuing  their  course;  they 
were  inclined  rather  to  look  to  their  own  interest,  to  make 
conquests  and  possess  them.  The  mass  of  the  army,  how- 
ever, rose  up,  and  insisted  on  marching  to  Jerusalem,  the 
deliverance  of  the  holy  city  being  the  object  of  the  crusade. 
It  was  not  to  gain  principalities  for  Raymond  of  Toulouse,  or 
for  Bohemond,  or  any  other  leader,  that  the  crusaders  had 
taken  arms.  The  popular,  national,  European  impulse  over- 
came all  the  intentions  of  individuals;  and  the  leaders  had 
not  sufficient  ascendancy  over  the  masses  to  make  them 
yield  to  their  personal  interests. 

The  sovereigns,  who  had  been  strangers  to  the  first  cru- 
sade, were  now  drawn  into  the  general  movement  as  the 
people  had  been.  The  great  crusades  of  the  twelfth  century 
were  commanded  by  kings. 

I  now  go  at  once  to  the  end  of  the  thirteenth  century. 
A  great  deal  was  still  said  in  Europe  about  crusades,  and 
they  were  even  preached  with  ardor.  The  popes  excited 
the  sovereigns  and  the  people;  councils  were  held  to  recom- 
mend the  conquest  of  the  holy  land;  but  no  expeditions 
of  any  importance  were  now  undertaken  for  ttiis  purpose, 
and  it  was  regarded  with  general  indifi'erence.  Something 
had  entered  into  the  spirit  of  European  society  which  put 
an  end  to  the  crusades.  Some  private  expeditions  still  took 
place;  some  nobles  and  some  bands  of  troops  still  continued 
to  depart  for  Jerusalem;  but  the  general  movement  was  evi- 
dently arrested.  Neither  the  necessity,  however,  nor  its 
facility  of  continuing  it,  seemed  to  have  ceased.  The  Mos- 
lems triumphed  more  and  more  in  Asia.  The  Christian 
kingdom  founded  at  Jeri«salem  had  fallen  into  their  hands. 
It  still  appeared  necessary  to  regain  it;  and  the  means  of 
success  were  greater   than   at   the   commencement   of    the 


154  GENERAL    HISTORY    OF 

crusades.  A  great  number  of  Christians  were  established 
and  still  powerful  in  Asia  Minor,  Syria,  and  Palestine.  The 
proper  means  of  transport,  and  of  carrying  on  the  war,  were 
better  known.  Still,  nothing  could  revive  the  spirit  of  the 
crusades.  It  is  evident  that  the  two  great  forces  of  society 
— the  sovereigns  on  the  one  hand,  and  the  people  on  the 
other — no  longer  desired  their  continuance. 

It  has  been  often  said  that  Europe  was  weary  of  these 
constant  inroads  upon  Asia.  We  must  come  to  an  under- 
standing as  to  the  meaning  of  the  word  weariness,  frequently 
used  on  such  occasions.  It  is  exceedingly  incorrect.  It  is 
not  true  that  generations  of  mankind  can  be  weary  of  what 
has  not  been  done  by  themselves;  that  they  can  be  wearied 
by  the  fatigues  of  their  fathers.  Weariness  is  personal;  it 
cannot  be  transmitted  like  an  inheritance.  The  people  of 
the  thirteenth  century  were  not  weary  of  the  crusades  of  the 
twelith;  they  were  influenced  by  a  different  cause.  A  great 
change  had  taken  place  in  opinions,  sentiments,  and  social 
relations.  There  were  no  longer  the  same  wants,  or  the 
same  desires:  the  people  no  longer  believed,  or  wished  to 
believe,  in  the  same  things.  It  is  by  these  moral  or  political 
changes,  and  not  by  weariness,  that  the  differences  in  the 
conduct  of  suc(;essive  generations  can  be  explained.  The 
pretended  weariness  ascribed  to  them  is  a  metaphor  wholly 
destitute  of  truth. 

Two  great  causes,  the  one  moral,  the  other  social,  im- 
pelled Europe  into  the  crusades. 

The  mo7'al  cause,  as  3'ou  are  aware,  was  the  impulse  of 
religious  feeling  and  belief.  From  the  end  of  the  seventh 
century,  Christianity  maintained  a  constant  struggle  against 
Mohammedanism.  It  had  overccme  Mohammedanism  in 
Europe,  after  having  been  threatened  with  great  danger 
from  it;  and  had  succeeded  in  confining  it  to  Spain.  Even 
from  thence  the  expulsion  of  Mohammedanism  was  con- 
stantly attempted.  The  crusades  have  been  represented  as 
a  sort  of  accident,  an  unforeseen  event,  sprung  from  the 
recitals  of  pilgrims  returned  from  Jerusalem,  and  the  preach- 
ing of  Peter  the  Hermit.  They  were  nothing  of  the  kind. 
The  crusades  were  the  continuation,  the  height  of  the  great 
struggle  which  had  subsisted  for  four  centuries  between 
Christianity  and  Mohammedanism.  The  theatre  of  this 
contest  had  hitherto  been  in  Europe;  it  was  now  transported 
into  Asia.     If  I  had  attached  any  value  to  those  comparisons, 


CIVILIZATION    IN    MODERN    EUROPE.  I55 

those  parallels,  into  which  historical  facts  are  sometimes 
made  willing  or  unwillingly  to  enter,  I  might  show  you 
Christianity  running  exactly  the  same  course,  and  under- 
going the  same  destiny  in  Asia,  as  Mohammedanism  in 
Europe.  Mohammedanism  established  itself  in  Spain,  where 
it  conquered,  founded  a  kingdom  and  various  principalities. 
The  Christians  did  the  same  thing  in  Asia.  They  were  there 
in  regard  to  the  Mohammedans,  in  the  same  situation  as  the 
Mohammedans  in  Spain  with  regard  to  the  Christians.  The 
kingdom  of  Jerusalem  corresponds  with  the  kingdom  of 
Granada:  but  these  similitudes,  after  all,  are  of  little  impor- 
tance. The  great  fact  was  the  struggle  between  the  two 
religious  and  social  systems:  the  crusades  were  its  principal 
crisis.  This  is  their  historical  character;  the  chain  which 
connects  them  with  the  general  course  of  events. 

Another  cause,  the  social  state  of  Europe  in  the  eleventh 
century,  equally  contributed  to  the  breaking  out  of  the  cru- 
sades. I  have  been  careful  to  explain  why,  from  the  fifth  to 
the  eleventh  century,  there  was  no  such  thing  as  generality 
in  Europe;  I  have  endeavored  to  show  how  everything  had 
assumed  a  local  character;  how  states,  existing  institutions, 
and  opinions,  were  confined  within  very  narrow  bounds;  it 
was  then  that  the  feudal  system  prevailed.  After  the  lapse 
of  some  time,  such  a  narrow  horizon  was  no  longer  sufficient; 
human  thought  and  activity  aspired  to  pass  beyond  the  nar- 
row sphere  in  which  they  were  confined.  The  people  no 
longer  led  their  former  wandering  life,  but  had  not  lost  the 
taste  for  its  adventures;  they  threw  themselves  into  the  cru- 
sades as  into  a  new  state  of  existence,  in  which  they  were 
more  at  large,  and  enjoyed  more  variety;  which  reminded 
them  of  the  freedom  of  former  barbarism,  while  it  opened 
boundless  prospects  of  futurity. 

These  were,  in  my  opinion,  the  two  determining  causes 
of  the  crusades  in  the  twelfth  century.  At  the  end  of  the 
thirteenth,  neither  of  these  causes  continued  to- exist.  Man- 
kind and  society  were  so  greatly  changed,  that  neither  the 
moral  nor  the  social  incitements  which  had  impelled  Europe 
upon  Asia  were  felt  any  longer.  I  do  not  know  whether 
many  of  you  have  read  the  original  historians  of  the  crusades, 
or  have  ever  thought  of  comparing  the  contemporary  chroni- 
clers of  the  first  crusades  with  those  of  the  end  of  the  twelfth 
and  thirteenth  centuries;  for  example,  Albert  de  Aix,  Robert 
the  Monk,  andd  Raynard  d'Argile,  who  were  engaged  in  the 


156  GENERAL    HISTORY    OF 

first  crusade  with  William  of  Tyre  and  Jacques  de  Vitry. 
When  we  compare  these  two  classes  of  writers,  it  is  impos- 
sible not  not  be  struck  with  the  distance  between  them.  The 
first  are  animated  chroniclers,  whose  imagination  is  excited, 
and  who  relate  the  events  of  the  crusade  with  passion:  but 
they  are  narrow-minded  in  the  extreme,  without  an  idea 
beyond  the  little  sphere  in  which  they  lived;  ignorant  of 
every  science,  full  of  prejudices,  incapable  of  forming  an 
opinion  on  what  was  passing  around  them,  or  the  events 
which  were  the  subject  of  their  narratives.  But  open,  on 
the  other  hand,  the  history  of  the  crusades  by  William  of 
Tyre,  and  you  will  be  surprised  to  find  almost  a  modern  his- 
torian; a  cultivated,  enlarged,  and  liberal  mind,  great  poli- 
tical intelligence,  general  views  and  opinions  upon  causes 
and  effects.  Jacques  de  Vitry  is  an  example  of  another 
species  of  cultivation;  he  is  a  man  of  learning,  who  does  not 
confine  himself  to  what  immediately  concerns  the  crusades, 
but  describes  the  state  of  manners,  the  geography,  the  reli- 
gion, and  natural  history  of  the  country  to  which  his  history 
relates.  There  is,  in  short,  an  immense  distance  between 
the  historians  of  the  first  and  of  the  last  crusades;  a  distance 
which  manifests  an  actual  revolution  in  the  state  of  the 
human  mind. 

This  revolution  is  most  conspicuous  in  the  manner  in 
which  these  two  classes  of  writers  speak  of  the  Mohamme- 
dans. For  the  first  chroniclers — and  consequently  for  the 
first  crusaders,  of  whose  sentiments  the  first  chroniclers  are 
merely  the  organs — the  Mohammedans  are  only  an  object  of 
hatred;  it  is  clear  that  those  who  speak  of  them  do  not  know 
them,  form  no  judgment  respecting  them,  nor  consider  them 
under  any  point  of  view  but  that  of  the  religious  hostility 
which  exists  between  them.  No  vestige  of  social  relation  is 
discoverable  between  them  and  the  Mohammedans:  they 
detest  them,  and  fight  with  them;  and  nothing  more. 
William  of  Tyre,  Jacques  de  Vitry,  Bernard  le  Tresorier, 
speak  of  the  Mussulmans  quite  differently.  We  see  that, 
even  while  fighting  with  them,  they  no  longer  regard  them 
as  monsters;  that  they  have  entered  to  a  certain  extent  into 
their  ideas,  that  they  have  lived  with  them,  and  that  certain 
social  relations,  and  even  a  sort  of  sympathy,  have  arisen 
between  them.  William  of  Tyre  pronounces  a  glowing 
eulogium  on  Noureddin  and  Bernard  le  Tresorier  on  Sala- 
din.  They  sometimes  even  go  the  length  of  placing  the 
manners  and  conduct  of  the  Mussulmans  in  opposition  to 
those  of  the  Christians;  they  adopt  the  manners  and  senti- 


CIVILIZATION    IN    MOIDERN    EUROPE.  157 

merits  of  the  Mussulmans  in  order  to  satirise  the  Christians, 
in  the  same  manner  as  Tacitus  delineated  the  manners  of  the 
Germans  in  contrast  with  those  of  Rome.  You  see,  then, 
what  an  immense  change  must  have  taken  place  between 
these  two  periods,  since  you  find  in  the  latter,  in  regard  to 
the  very  enemies  of  the  Christians,  the  very  people  against 
whom  the  crusades  were  directed,  an  impartiality  of  judg- 
ment which  would  have  filled  the  first  crusaders  with  surprise 
and  horror. 

The  principal  effect,  then,  of  the  crusades  was  a  great 
step  toward  the  emancipation  of  the  mind,  a  great  progress 
toward  enlarged  and  liberal  ideas.  Though  begun  under 
the  name  and  influence  of  religous  belief,  the  crusades  de- 
prived religious  ideas,  I  shall  not  say  of  their  legitimate 
share  of  influence,  but  of  their  exclusive  and  despotic  pos- 
session of  the  human  mind.  This  result,  though  undoubt- 
edly unforeseen,  arose  from  various  causes.  The  first  was 
evidently  the  novelty,  extent,  and  variety  of  the  scene  which 
displayed  itself  to  the  crusaders;  what  generally  happens  to 
travelers  happened  to  them.  It  is  mere  common-place  to 
say  that  travelling  gives  freedom  to  the  mind;  that  the  habit 
of  observing  different  nations,  different  manners,  and  differ- 
ent opinions,  enlarges  the  ideas,  and  disengages  the  judg- 
ment from  old  prejudices.  The  same  thing  happened  to 
those  nations  of  travelers  who  have  been  called  the  cru- 
saders; their  minds  were  opened  and  raised  by  having  seen 
a  multitude  of  different  things,  by  having  become  acquainted 
with  other  manners  than  their  own.  They  found  themselves 
also  placed  in  connexion  with  two  states  of  civilization,  not 
only  different  from  their  own,  but  more  advanced — the 
Greek  state  of  society  on  the  one  hand,  and  the  Mussulman 
on  the  other.  There  is  no  doubt  that  the  society  of  the 
Greeks,  though  enervated,  perverted,  and  decaying,  gave 
the  crusaders  the  impression  of  something  more  advanced, 
polished,  and  enlightened  than  their  own.  The  society  of 
the  Mussulmans  presented  them  a  scene  of  the  same  kind. 
It  is  curious  to  observe  in  the  chronicles  the  impression 
made  by  the  crusaders  on  the  Mussulmans,  who  regarded 
them  at  first  as  the  most  brutal,  ferocious,  and  stupid  bar- 
barians they  had  ever  seen.  The  crusaders,  on  their  part, 
were  struck  with  the  riches  and  elegance  of  manners  which 
they  observed  among  the  Mussulmans.  These  first  impres- 
sions were  succeeded  by  frequent  relations  between  the  Mus- 
sulmans  and    Christians.      These   became   more    extensive 


IS8 


GENERAL    HISTORY    OF 


and  important  than  is  commonly  believed.  Not  only  had 
the  Christians  of  the  east  habitual  relations  with  the  Mussul- 
mans, but  the  people  of  the  east  and  the  west  became 
acquainted  with,  visited,  and  mingled  with  each  other.  It 
is  but  lately  that  one  of  those  learned  men  who  do  honor  to 
France  in  the  eyes  of  Europe,  J\I.  Abel  Remusat,  has  dis- 
covered the  relations  which  subsisted  between  the  Mongol 
emperors  and  the  Christian  kings.  Mongol  ambassadors 
were  sent  to  the  kings  of  the  Fr-anks,  and  to  St.  Louis 
among  others,  in  order  to  persuade  them  to  enter  into 
alliance,  and  to  resume  the  crusades  for  the  common  interest 
of  the  Mongols  and  the  Christians  against  the  Turks.  And 
not  only  were  diplomatic  and  official  relations  thus  established 
between  the  sovereigns,  but  there  was  much  and  various  in- 
tercourse between  the  nations  of  the  east  and  west.  I  shall 
quote  the  word  of  M.  Abel  Remusat: — 

"  Many  men  of  religious  orders — Italians,  French,  and  Flemings — 
were  charged  with  diplomatic  missions  to  the  court  of  the  Great  Khan. 
Mongols  of  distinction  came  to  Rome,  Baicelona,  Valentia,  Lyons, 
Paris,  London,  and  Northampton  ;  and  a  Franciscan  of  the  kingdom  of 
Naples  was  Archbishop  of  Pekin.  His  successor  was  a  professor  of 
theology  in  the  University  of  Paris.  But  how  many  other  people  fol- 
lowed in  the  train  of  those  personages,  either  as  slaves,  or  attracted  by 
the  desire  of  profit,  or  led  by  curiosity  into  regions  hitherto  unknown  ! 
Chance  has  preserved  the  names  of  some  of  these ;  the  first  envoy  who 
visited  the  King  of  Hungary  on  the  part  of  the  Tartars  was  an  English- 
man, who  bad  been  banished  from  his  country  for  certain  crimes,  and 
who,  after  having  wandered  over  Asia,  at  last  entered  into  the  service 
of  the  Mongols.  A  Flemish  Cordelier,  in  the  heart  of  Tartary,  fell  in 
with  a  woman  of  Metz  called  "  Paquette,"  who  had  been  carried  off  into 
Hungar\%  a  Parisian  goldsmith,  and  a  young  man  from  the  neighbor- 
hood of  Rouen,  who  had  been  at  the  taking  of  Belgrade.  In  the  same 
country  he  fell  in  also  with  Russians,  Hungarians,  and  Flemings.  A 
singer,  called  "  Robert,"  after  having  travelled  through  Eastern  Asia, 
returned  to  end  his  days  in  the  cathedral  of  Chartres.  A  Tartar  was  a 
furnisher  of  helmets  in  the  armies  of  Philip  the  Fair.  Jean  de  Plan- 
carpin  fell  in,  near  Gayouk,  with  a  Russian  gentleman  whom  he  calls 
"  Temer,"  and  who  acted  as  an  interpreter;  and  many  merchants  of 
Breslaw,  Poland,  and  Austria,  accompanied  him  in  his  journey  into 
Tartary.  Others  returned  with  him  through  Russia  ;  they  were  Genoese, 
Pisans.  and  Venetians.  Two  Venetians,  merchants,  whom  chance  had 
brought  to  Bokhara,  followed  a  Mongol  ambassador,  sent  by  Houlagou 
to  Khoubilai.  They  remained  many  years  in  China  and  Tartary,  re- 
turned with  letters  from  the  Great  Khan  to  the  Pope,  and  afterward 
went  back  to  the  Khan,  taking  with  them  the  son  of  one  of  their  num- 
ber, the  celebrated  Marco  Polo,  and  once  more  left  the  court  of  Khou- 
bilai to  return  to  Venice.  Travels  of  this  nature  were  not  less  frequent 
in  the  following  century.  Of  this  number  are  those  of  John  Mandeville, 
an  English  physician  ;  Oderic  de  Frioul,  Pegoletti,  Guilleaume  de 
Bouldeselle,  and   several  others.     It  may  well  be  supposed,  that  those 


CIVILIZATION    IN    MODERN    EUROPE. 


59 


travels  of  which  the  memory  is  preserved  form  but  a  small  part  of  those 
which  were  undertaken,  and  there  were  in  those  days  many  more  peo- 
ple who  were  able  to  perform  those  long  journevs  than  to  write  accounts 
of  them.     Many  of  those  adventurers  must  have  remained  and  died  in 
the  countries  they  went  to  visit.     Others  returned  home  as  obscure  as 
before,  but  having  their  imagination  full  of  the  things  they  had  seen, 
relating  them  to  their  families,  with  much  exaggeration  no  doubt,  but 
leaving  behind  them,  among  many  ridiculous  fables,  useful  recollections 
and  traditions  capable  of  bearing  fruit.     Thus,  in  Germany,  Italy,  and 
France,  in  the  monasteries,  among  the  nobility,  and  even  down  to  the 
lowest  classes  of  society,   there  were   deposited    many  precious  seeds 
destined  to  bud  at  a  somewhat  later  period.     All  these  unknown  trav- 
elers, carrying  the  arts  of  their  own  country  into  distant  regions,  brought 
back  other  pieces  of  knowledge  not  less  precious,  and,  without  being 
aware  of  it,  made  exchanges  more  advantageous   than   those  of  com- 
merce.    By  these  means,  not  only  the  traffic  in  the  silks,  porcelain. and 
other  commodities  of  Hindostan,  became  more  extensive  and   practic- 
able, and  new  paths  were   opened   to  commercial   industry  and  enter- 
prise ;  but,  what  was  more  valuable  still,  foreign  manners,  unknown 
nations,  extraordinary  productions,  presented  themselves  in  abundance 
to  the  minds  of  the  Europeans,  which,  since  the  fall  of  the  Roman  em- 
pire, had   been  confined  within   too  narrow  a  circle.     Men  be.o-an  to 
attach  some  importance  to  the  most  beautiful,  the  most  populou's   and 
the  most  anciently  civilized  of  the  four  quarters  of  the  world.     They 
began  to  studv  the  arts,  the  religions,  the  languages,  of  the  nations  by 
whom  It  was  inhabited  ;  and  there  was  even  an  intention  of  esiablishing 
a  professorship  of  the  Tartar  language  in  the  University  of  Paris      The 
accounts  of  travelers,  strange  and   exaggerated   indeed,  but   soon  dis- 
cussed and   cleared   up,  diffused   more  correct  and   varied   notions  of 
those  distant  regions.     The  world   seemed  to  open,  as   it  were   toward 
the  east  ;  geography  made  an  immense  stride  ;  and  ardor  for  discovery 
became  the  new  form  assumed  by  European  spirit  of  adventure      The 
idea  of  another  hem:r,phere,  when  our  own  came  to  be  better  known 
no  longer  seemed  an  improbable  paradox  ;  and  it  was  when  in  search 
^l    xf  ^iP^"^^'  of  Marco  Polo  that  Christopher  Columbus  discovered 
the  New  World." 

You  see,  then,  what  a  vast  and  unexplored  world  was 
laid  open  to  the  view  of  European  intelligence  by  the  con- 
sequences of  the  crusade.  It  cannot  be  doubted  that  the 
impulse  which  led  to  them  was  one  of  the  most  powerful 
causes  of  the  development  and  freedom  of  mind  which  arose 
out  of  that  great  event. 

There  is  another  circumstance  which  is  worthy  of  notice. 
Down  to  the  time  of  the  crusades,  the  court  of  Rome,  the 
centre  of  the  Church,  had  been  very  little  in  communication 
With  the  laity,  unless  through  the  medium  of  ecclesiastics; 
either  legates  sent  by  the  court  of  Rome,  or  the  whole  body 
of  the  bishops  and  clergy.  There  were  alwavs  some  laymen 
in  direct  relation  with  Rome;  but  upon  the  whole,  it  was  by 
means  of  churchmen   that   Rome  had  any  communication 


l6o  GENERAL    HISTORY    OF 

with  the  people  of  different  countries.  During  the  crusades, 
on  the  contrary,  Rome  became  a  halting-place  for  a  great 
portion  of  the  crusaders,  either  in  going  or  returning.  A 
multitude  of  laymen  were  spectators  of  its  policy  and  its 
manner,  and  were  able  to  discover  the  share  which  personal 
interest  had  in  religious  disputes.  There  is  no  doubt  that 
this  newly-acquired  knowledge  inspired  many  minds  with  a 
boldness  hitherto  unknown 

When  we  consider  tfie  state  of  the  general  mind  at  the 
termination  of  the  crusades,  especially  in  regard  to  ecclesias- 
tical matters,  we  cannot  fail  to  be  struck  with  a  singular  fact: 
religious  notions  underwent  no  change,  and  were  not  re- 
placed by  contrary  or  even  different  opinions.  Thought, 
notwithstanding,  had  become  more  free;  religious  creeds 
were  not  the  only  subjects  on  which  the  human  mind  exer- 
cised its  faculties;  without  abandoning  them,  it  began 
occasionally  to  wander  from  them,  and  to  take  other  direc- 
tions. Thus,  at  the  end  of  the  thirteenth  century,  the  moral 
causes  which  had  led  to  the  crusades,  or  which,  at  least,  had 
been  their  most  energetic  principle,  had  disappeared;  the 
moral  state  of  Europe  had  undergone  an  essential  modifica- 
tion. 

The  social  state  of  society  had  undergone  an  analogous 
change.  Many  inquiries  have  been  made  as  to  the  influence 
of  the  crusades  in  this  respect;  it  has  been  shown  in  what 
manner  they  had  reduced  a  great  number  of  feudal  pro- 
prietors to  the  necessity  of  selling  their  fiefs  to  the  kings,  or 
to  sell  their  privileges  to  the  communities,  in  order  to  raise 
money  for  the  crusades. 

It  has  been  shown  that,  in  consequence  of  their  absence, 
many  of  the  nobles  lost  a  great  portion  of  their  power. 
Without  entering  into  the  details  of  this  question,  we  may 
collect  into  a  few  general  facts  the  influence  of  the  crusades 
on  the  social  state  of  Europe. 

They  greatly  diminished  the  number  of  petty  fiefs,  pett}"" 
domains,  and  petty  proprietors;  they  concentrated  property 
and  power  in  a  smaller  number  of  hands.  It  is  from,  the 
time  of  the  crusades  that  we  may  observe  the  formation  and 
growth  of  great  fiefs — the  existence  of  feudal  power  on  a 
large  scale. 

I  have  often  regretted  that  there  was  not  a  map  of  France 
divided  into  fiefs,  as  we  have  a  map  of  France  divided  into 
departments,  arrondissmcnts,  cantons  and  conununes^  in  which 
all  the  fiefs  were   marked,  with  their  boundaries,  relations 


CIVILIZATION    IN    MODERN    EUROPE.  l6l 

with  each  other,  and  successive  changes.  If  we  could  have 
compared,  by  the  help  of  such  maps,  the  state  of  France 
before  and  after  the  crusades,  we  should  have  seen  how 
many  small  fiefs  had  disappeared,  and  to  what  extent  the 
greater  ones  had  increased.  This  was  one  of  the  most  im- 
portant results  of  the  crusades. 

Even  in  those  cases  where  small  proprietors  preserved  their 
fiefs,  they  did  not  live  upon  them  in  such  an  insulated  state 
as  formerly.  The  possessors  of  great  fiefs  became  so  many 
centres  around  which  the  smaller  ones  were  gathered,  and 
near  which  they  came  to  live.  During  the  crusades,  small 
proprietors  found  it  necessary  to  place  themselves  in  the 
train  of  some  rich  and  powerful  chief,  from  whom  they  re- 
ceived assistance  and  support.  They  lived  with  him,  shared 
his  fortune,  and  passed  through  the  same  adventures  that  he 
did.  When  the  crusaders  returned  home,  this  social  spirit, 
this  habit  of  living  in  intercourse  with  superiors  continued 
to  subsist,  and  had  its  influence  on  the  manners  of  the  age. 
As  we  see  that  the  great  fiefs  were  increased  after  the  cru- 
sades, so  we  see,  also,  that  the  proprietors  of  these  fiefs 
held,  within  their  castles,  a  much  more  considerable  court 
than  before,  and  were  surrounded  by  a  greater  number  of 
gentlemen,  who  preserved  their  little  domains,  but  no  longer 
kept  within  them. 

The  extension  of  the  great  fiefs,  and  the  creation  of  a 
number  of  central  points  in  society,  in  pl^ce  of  the  general 
dispersion  which  previously  existed,  were  the  tw^  principal 
effects  of  the  crusades,  considered  with  respect  to  their  in- 
fluence upon  feudalism. 

As  to  the  inhabitants  of  the  towns,  a  result  of  the  same 
nature  may  easily  be  perceived.  The  crusades  created  great 
civic  communities.  Petty  commerce  and  petty  industry  were 
not  sufficient  to  give  rise  to  communities  such  as  the  great 
cities  of  Italy  and  Flanders.  It  was  commerce  on  a  great 
scale — maritime  commerce,  and,  especially,  the  commerce 
of  the  east  and  west,  which  gave  them  birth;  now  it  was 
the  crusades  which  gave  to  maritime  commerce  the  greatest 
impulse  it  had  yet  received. 

On  the  whole,  when  we  survey  the  state  of  society  at  the 
end  of  the  crusades,  we  find  that  the  movement  tending  to 
dissolution  and  dispersion,  the  movement  of  universal  locali- 
zation (if  I  may  be  allowed  such  an  expression)  had  ceased, 
and  had  been  succeeded  by  a  movement  in  the  contrary 
direction,  a  movement  of  centralization.  All  things  tended 
to  mutual   approximation;  small   things   were   absorbed   in 


l62  GENERAL    HISTORY    OF 

great  ones,  or  gathered  round   them.     Such  was  the  direc- 
tion then  taken  by  the  progress  of  society. 

You  now  understand  why,  at  the  end  of  the  thirteenth 
and  in  the  fourteenth  century,  neither  nations  nor  sovereigns 
wished  to  have  any  more  crusades.  They  neither  needed 
nor  desired  them;  they  had  been  thrown  into  them  by  the 
impulses  of  rehgious  spirit,  and  the  exclusive  dominion  of 
religious  ideas;  but  this  dominion  had  now  lost  its  energy. 
They  had  also  sought  in  the  crusades  a  new  way  of  life,  of  a 
less  confined  and  more  varied  description;  but  they  began  to 
find  this  in  Europe  itself,  in  the  progress  of  the  social  rela- 
tions. It  was  at  this  time  that  kings  began  to  see  the  road 
to  political  aggrandizement.  Why  go  to  Asia  in  search  of 
kingdoms,  when  there  were  kingdoms  to  conquer  at  their 
very  doors?  Philip  Augustus  embarked  in  the  crusade  very 
unwillingly;  and  what  could  be  more  natural?  His  desire 
was  to  make  himself  king  of  France,  It  was  the  same  thing 
with  the  people.  The  road  to  wealth  was  open  to  them;  and 
they  gave  up  adventures  for  industry.  Adventures  were  re- 
placed, for  sovereigns,  by  political  projects;  for  the  people, 
by  industry  on  a  large  scale.  One  class  only  of  society 
still  had  a  taste  for  adventure;  that  portion  of  the  feudal 
nobility,  who,  not  being  in  a  condition  to  think  of  political 
aggrandizement,  and  not  being  disposed  to  industry,  retained 
their  former  situation  and  manners.  This  class,  accordingly, 
continued  to  embark  in  crusades,  and  endeavored  to  renew 
them. 

Such,  in  my  opinion,  are  the  real  effects  of  the  crusades; 
on  the  one  hand  the  extension  of  ideas  and  the  emancipation 
of  thought;  on  the  other,  a  general  enlargement  of  the  social 
sphere,  and  the  opening  of  a  wider  field  for  every  sort  of 
activity:  they  produced,  at  the  same  time,  more  individual 
freedom  and  more  political  unity.  They  tended  to  the  inde- 
pendence of  man  and  the  centralization  of  society.  Many 
inquiries  have  been  made  respecting  the  means  of  civiliza- 
tion which  were  directly  imported  from  the  east.  It  has  been 
said  that  the  largest  part  of  the  great  discoveries  which,  in 
the  course  of  the  fourteenth  and  fifteenth  centuries,  con- 
tributed to  the  progress  of  European  civilization — such  as 
the  compass,  printing,  and  gunpowder — were  known  in  the 
east,  and  that  the  crusades  brought  them  into  Europe.  This 
is  true  to  a  certain  extent;  though  some  of  these  assertions 
may  be  disputed.  But  what  cannot  be  disputed  is  this  in- 
fluence, this  general  effect  of  the  crusades  upon  the  human 


CIVILIZATION    IN    MODERN    EUROPE.  163 

mind  on  the  one  hand,  and  the  state  of  society  on  the  other. 
They  drew  society  out  of  a  very  narrow  road,  to  throw  it 
into  new  and  infinitely  broader  paths;  they  began  that  trans- 
formation of  the  various  elements  of  European  society  into 
governments  and  nations,  which  is  the  characteristic  of 
modern  civilization.  The  same  period  witnessed  the  de- 
velopment of  one  of  those  institutions  which  has  most  power- 
fully contributed  to  this  great  result — monarchy;  the  history 
of  which,  from  the  birth  of  the  modern  states  of  Europe  to 
the  thirteenth  century,  will  form  the  subject  of  our  next 
lecture. 

The  following  chronological  table  may  serve  to  put  before 
the  student's  eye  a  connected  outline  of  the  principlal  facts 
Eight  crusades  are  enumerated. 

First  Cnisade. — A.D.  1096-1100.     Urban  II.  Pope. 

A.D. 

1004.  Peter  the  Hermit  returned  from  a  pilgrimage — by  direction  of  the 
Pope,  preaches  throughout  Europe. 

1095.  Council  of  Clermont  in  France.  (A  previous  council  had  been 
held  at  Placenza.)  Attended  by  the  Pope  and  an  immense  con- 
course of  clergy  and  nobles.  The  crusade  proclaimed — great  privi- 
leges, civil  and  ecclesiastical,  to  all  who  should  '  assume  the  cross" 
— a  year  allowed  to  prepare.  Peter  the  Hermit,  not  waiting,  sets 
out  at  the  head  of  a  vast  rabble  of  undisciplined  fanatics  and 
marauders,  who  perish  by  disease,  famine,  and  the  sword,  in  Asia 
Minor. 

1096.  An  army  of  100,000  mounted  and  mailed  v/arriors,  6co,ooo  men 
capable  of  bearing  arms,  and  a  multitude  of  monks,  women,  and 
children,  dep-irt  from  Europe  and  assemble  on  the  plains  of  By- 
thinia,  east  of  Constantinople.  Principal  leaders  of  the  expedition : 
Godfrey  of  Boulougne,  with  his  brothers,  Baldwin  and  Eustace  ; 
Robert  II ,  Duke  of  Normany  ;  Robert  II.,  Count  of  Flanders  ;  Ray- 
mond of  Toulouse  ;  Hugh  ot  Vermandois  ;  Stephen  de  Blois  ;  Bohe- 
mond.  Prince  of  Tarento,  with  his  nephew  Tancred. 

1097.  Nice  taken  by  the  crusaders. 

1098.  Antioch  and  Edessa  taken. 

1099.  Jerusalem  taken — a  Christian  kingdom,  on  feudal  principles,  es- 
tablished— the  crown  conferred  on  Godfrey  of  Boulougne. 

Internal  between  the  First  and  Second  Crusades. — 1100-1147. 

Baldwin  I.  succeeds  his  brother  Godfrey  as  King  of  Jerusalem.  A 
new  army  of  crusaders  destroyed  by  the  Saracens  in  Asia  Minor,  and 
the  remnant  of  the  first  army  cut  to  pieces  "t  Rama.  St.  Jean  d'Acre 
(Ptolemais),  Berytus,  and  SiJon,  taken  by  Baldwin  IT.,  successor  of 
Baldwin  I.  The  Christian  army  unsuccessful — Edessa  taken  by  the 
Turks  in  1144 — continued  ill  success  of  the  Christians  leads  to  a  new 
crusade. 


164  GENERAL    HISTORY    OF 

Second  Cntsade. — 1147-1149.  Eugene  III.  Pope. 
Leaders  of  this  expedition:  Conrad  III.,  Emperor  of  Germany,  and 
Louis  VII.,  King  of  France,  who  set  out  separately  on  their  march. 
Both  armies  destroyed  in  Asia  Minor  by  famine  and  the  sword.  The 
fugitives  assemble  at  Jerusalem.  Conrad,  Louis,  and  Baldwin  III., 
King  of  Jerusalem,  lay  siege  to  Damascus — the  enterprise  fails  through 
the  quarrels  of  the  princes — Conrad  and  Louis  return  to  Europe. 

Interval  betiveeii  the  Second  and  Third  Crusades. — 1149-1189. 
Saladin  takes  possession  of  Egypt  and  founds  a  d)'nasty  in  1175. 
Makes  war  upon  the  Christian  kingdom  of  Jerusalem  ;  defeats  Guy  of 
Lusignan  at  the  battle  of  Tiberias;  Guy  taken  prisoner;  St.  Jean  d'Acre 
and  Jerusalem  taken.  Conrad  of  Montferrat  lays  claim  to  the  crown  of 
Jerusalem,  and  rallies  the  remains  of  the  Christian  forces  at  Tyre. 

Third  Crusade. — 1189-1193.     Clement  III.  Pope. 

Leaders:  Frederick  I.  (Barbarossa),  Emperor  of  Germany;  Philip 
Augustus,  King  of  France  ;  and  Richard  I.  of  England. 

Frederick  departs  first  with  an  army  of  100,000  men,  which  is  en- 
tirely destroyed  in  Asia  Minor.  The  emperor  himself  dies  in  Cilicia, 
1 190.  His  son,  Frederick  of  Suabia,  afterward  killed  at  St.  Jean 
d'Acre. 

1190.  The  kings  of  France  and  England  embark  by  sea,  and  pass  the 
winter  in  Sicily;  the  armies  embroiled  by  the  artifices  of  Tancred, 
usurping  king  of  Jerusalem,  and  by  dissension  between  the  kings 

1191.  The  armies  of  France  and  England,  with  the  Christian  princes  of 
Syria,  take  St.  Jean  d'Acre.  Phi'iip  Augustus  returns  to  France, 
leaving  a  part  of  his  army  with  Richard — who  displays  his  bravery 
in  some  useless  battles,  but  is  unable  to  regain  Jerusalem. 

1192.  Richard  concludes  a  truce  with  Saladin  and  returns  to  Europe. 

Third  Interval. — 1 195-1 202. 
Saladin   dies — his    dominions   divided   among   the   princes   of    his 
family. 

Fourth  Crusade. — 1202-1204.  Innocent  III.  Pope. 
Leaders:  Baldwin  IX.,  Count  of  Flanders;  Boniface  II.,  Marquis 
of  Montferrat  ;  Henry  Dandolo,  Doge  of  Venice,  etc.  The  hin^s  of 
Europe  could  not  be  aroused  to  engage  in  this  crusade,  notwithstand- 
ing all  the  urgency  of  the  Holy  See.  The  chief  command  was  conferred 
by  the  crusaders  on  Boniface  of  Montferrat.  This  expedition,  however, 
never  reached  the  Holy  Land — but  engaged  in  putting  down  a  usurpa- 
tion at  Constantinople,  which  finally  led  to  the  taking  and  plundering 
of  that  city  by  the  crusaders,  and  the  division  of  the  empire  among  the 
conquerors,  of  whom  Baldv/in  was  raised  to  the  imperial  dignity.  The 
French  empire  of  Constantinople  was  destroyed  in  1261,  by  Michael 
Paleologus. 

Fourth  Intejijal. — 1204-1217. 
Meantime  the  Christians  in  the  east,  though  despoiled  of  most  of 
t-heir  possessions,  and  weakened  by  divisions,  bravely  defended  them- 
selves against  the  sultans  of  Egypt.  They  continually  invoked  aid  from 
Europe ;  but  more  powerful  interests  at  home  made  the  European 
princes  regardless  ot  their  calls.  Only  those  of  more  exalted  imagina- 
tions could  be  influenced.     There  was  a  crusade  of  children  in  1212. 


CIVILIZATION    IN    MODERN    EUROPE.  165 

Fifth  Crusade. — 1217-1221.  Honorius  III.  Pope. 
Three  kings — John  de  Brienne,  titular  king  of  Jerusalem  ;  Andrew 
II.,  King  of  Hungary;  and  Hugh  of  Lusignan,  King  of  Cyprus— united 
their  forces  at  St.  Jean  d' Acre.  The  King  of  Hungary  was  soon  re- 
called by  troubles  at  home;  Hugh  of  Lusignan  died  ;  and  John  de 
Brienne  went  to  attack  Egypt  alone.  He  conquered  Damietta,  and 
would  have  obtained  the  restitution  of  Jerusalem  but  for  the  obstinacy 
of  the  Papal  legate,  who  forbade  any  truce  with  the  infidels.  In  1221  the 
crusaders,  after  many  reverses,  submitted  to  an  humiliating  peace;  and 
John  of  Brienne,  returning  to  Europe, gave  his  daughter  in  marriage  to 
Frederick  II.,  Emperor  of  Germany,  who  thereby  became  titular  king  of 
Jerusalem. 

Fifth  Intej-jal. — 1 221-1228. 
Nothing  remarkable  took  place  in  Syria. 

Sixth  Crtisade. — 1228-1229.  Gregory  IX.  Pope. 
Leader,  Frederick  II.  This  emperor  had  taken  the  vows  of  the 
cross  five  years  before,  and  though  anathematized  by  the  Pope,  had 
failed  to  fulfil  his  engagement.  At  length  he  set  out  by  invitation  of 
the  Sultan  Maledin,  who  yielded  Jerusalem  to  him  by  treaty  without 
battle.  Frederick  was  desirous  to  be  crowned  king  of  Jerusalem,  but 
no  bishop  dared  anoint  an  excommunicated  prince.  Threatened  with 
the  loss  of  his  Italian  dominions,  he  returned  to  Europe. 

Sixth  Interval. — 1229-1248. 
Anarchy  throughout  the  East,  both  among  the  Christians  and  Mo- 
hammedans.     Jerusalem,  after   being    taken    successively  by   several 
Saracen  chiefs,  fell  into  the  hands  of  the  Sultan  of  Egypt. 

Seventh  Crusade. — 1248-1254.  Innocent  IV.  Popp. 
Leaders:  St.  Louis  (IX.)  and  the  French  princes.  The  King  of 
France  engaged  in  this  crusade  in  consequence  of  a  vow  made  during 
a  dangerous  illness.  Most  of  the  princes  of  the  blood  and  great  vassals 
accompanied  him.  He  turned  his  arms  first  against  Egypt  and  took 
Damietta  in  1250;  but  his  army,  surprised  by  a  sudden  rising  of  the 
Nile,  and  carried  off  in  great  numbers  by  pestilence,  was  surrounded 
by  the  Mussulmen,  and  Louis  himself,  with  20,000  of  his  army,  was 
made  prisoner.  He  obtained  his  liberty,  however,  by  payment  of  a 
heavy  ransom  and  the  surrender  of  Damietta.  He  remained  four  years 
in  Palestine,  repairing  the  fortifications  of  the  towns  which  yet  rem.ained 
in  the  hands  of  the  Christians  (Ptolemais,  JaflTa,  Sidon,  etc.),  and  me- 
diating between  the  Christian  and  Mohammedan  princes. 

Seventh  I/itej-val. — 1254-1272. 
The  Mongols,  who,  under  Gengis  Khan,  had  before  overrun  the 
greatest  part  of  Asia,  now  entered  Syria  under  his  son,  having  already 
destroyed  the  Califate  of  Bagdad  in  1258.  They  were  driven  from  Syria 
by  the  Sultan  of  t-gypt,  Bibars,  by  whom  also  Damascus,  Tyre,  JaflTa, 
and  Antioch  were  seized. 

Eighth  Crusade. — 1270.     Clement  IV.  Pope. 
Leaders:  Louis  IX.,  Charles  of  Anjou,  Edward,  Prince  of  England, 
afterward  Edward  I.     This  expedition  was  first  directed  to  the  coast  of 
Africa  ;  Louis  debarked  before  Tunis  and  laid  siege  to  that  city  ;  but 


l66  GENERAL    HISTORY    OF    CIVILIZATION. 

the  army  was  cut  down  by  the  plague,  to  which  Louis  himself  and  one 
of  his  sons  fell  victims.  Charles  of  Anjou,  his  biother,  made  peace, 
with  the  Mohammedans  and  renounced  the  expedition  to  the  Holy 
Land.     This  was  the  last  crusade. 

End  of  the  Christian  power  in  Syria. — 1270-1291. 
There  remained  now  but  four  places  in  the  possession  of  the  Chris- 
tians on  the  eastern  shore  of  the  Mediterranean — Tripoli,  Tyre,  Berytus, 
and  St.  Jean  d'Acre.  These  successively  yielded  to  the  Saracens,  the 
last  in  1291.  The  various  orders  of  religious  knights,  sworn  to  ihe 
defence  of  the  Holy  Land,  withdrew  at  first  to  the  Island  of  Cyprus. 
In«i3io.  the  Hospilallcrs  established  themselves  at  Rhodes;  in  1312, 
the  order  of  the  Templars  was  abolished  ;  in  1300,  the  Teutonic  knights 
transferred  the  seat  of  their  order  to  Courland,  where  they  laid  the 
foundation  of  a  dominion  which  continued  powerful  for  a  long  period. 
— See  Des  Michels  Hist,  dti  JMoyen  Age. 


LECTURE    IX. 

OF    MONARCHY. 

I  ENDEAVORED,  at  OUT  last  meeting,  to  determine  the 
essential  and  distinctive  character  of  modern  society  as  com- 
pared with  the  primitive  state  of  society  in  Europe;  and  I 
believed  I  had  found  it  in  this  fact,  that  all  the  elements  of 
the  social  state,  at  first  numerous  and  various,  were  reduced 
to  two — the  government  on  one  hand,  and  the  people  on  the 
other.  Instead  of  finding,  in  the  capacity  of  ruling  forces 
and  chief  agents  in  history,  the  clergy,  kings,  citizens,  hus- 
bandmen, and  serfs,  we  now  find  in  modern  Europe,  only 
two  great  objects  which  occupy  the  historical  stage — the 
government  and  the  nation. 

If  such  is  the  fact  to  which  European  civilization  has  led, 
such,  also,  is  the  result  to  which  our  researches  should  con- 
duct us.  We  must  see  the  birth,  the  growth,  the  progressive 
establishment  of  this  great  result.  We  have  entered  upon 
the  period  to  which  we  can  trace  its  origin:  it  was,  as  you 
have  seen,  between  the  twelfth  and  the  sixtenth  centuries 
that  those  slow  and  hidden  operations  took  place  which 
brought  society  into  this  new  form,  this  definite  state.  We 
have  also  considered  the  first  great  event  which,  in  my 
opinion,  evidently  had  a  powerful  effect  in  impelling  Europe 
into  this  road;  I  mean  the  crusades. 

About  the  same  period,  and  almost  at  the  very  time  when 
the  crusades  broke  out,  that  institution  began  to  increase, 
which  has  perhaps  chiefly  contributed  to  the  formation  of 
modern  society,  and  to  the  fusion  of  all  the  social  elements 
into  two  forces,  the  government  and  the  people.  This  in- 
stitution is  monarchy. 

It  is  evident  that  monarchy  has  played  a  vast  part  in  the 
history  of  European  civilization.  Of  this  we  may  convince 
ourselves  by  a  single  glance.  We  see  the  development  of 
monarchy  proceed,  for  a  considerable  time,  at  the  same  rate 
as  that  of  society  itself:  they  had  a  common  progression. 
And  not  only  had  they  a  common  progression,  but  with 


l68  GENERAL    HISTORY    OF 

every  step  that  society  made  toward  its  definite  and  modern 
character,  monarchy  seemed  to  increase  and  prosper;  so  that 
when  the  work  was  consummated — when  there  remained,  in 
the  great  states  of  Europe,  Httle  or  no  important  and  deci- 
sive influence  but  that  of  the  government  and  the  pubhc — it 
was  monarchy  that  became  the  government. 

It  was  not  only  in  France,  where  the  fact  is  evident,  that 
this  happened,  but  in  most  of  the  countries  of  Europe.  A 
little  sooner  or  later,  and  under  forms  somewhat  different, 
the  history  of  society  in  England,  Spain,  and  Germany,  offers 
us  the  same  result.  In  England,  for  example,  it  was  under 
the  Tudors  that  the  old  particular  and  local  elements  of 
English  society  were  dissolved  and  mingled,  and  gave  way 
to  the  system  of  public  authorities;  this,  also,  was  the  period 
when  monarchy  had  the  greatest  influence.  It  was  the  same 
thing  in  Germany,  Spain,  and  all  the  great  European  states. 

If  we  leave  Europe,  and  cast  our  eyes  over  the  rest  of 
the  world,  we  shall  be  struck  with  an  analogous  fact.  Every- 
where we  shall  find  monarchy  holding  a  great  place,  and 
appearing  as  the  most  general  and  permanent,  perhaps,  of 
all  institutions;,  as  that  which  is  the  most  difficult  to  preclude 
where  it  does  not  exist,  and,  where  it  does  exist,  the  most 
difficult  to  extirpate.  From  time  immemorial  it  has  had 
possession  of  Asia.  On  the  discovery  of  America,  all  the 
great  states  of  that  continent  were  found,  with  different 
combinations,  under  monarchical  governments.  Vv'hen  we 
penetrate  into  the  interior  of  Africa,  wherever  we  meet  with 
nations  of  any  extent,  this  is  the  government  which  prevails. 
i\nd  not  only  has  monarchy  penetrated  everywhere,  but  it 
has  accommodated  itself  to  the  most  various  situations,  to 
civilization  and  barbarism:  to  the  most  peaceful  manners,  as 
in  China,  and  to  those  in  which  a  warlike  spirit  predominates. 
It  has  established  itself  not  only  in  the  midst  of  the  system 
of  castes,  in  countries  whose  social  economy  exhibits  the 
most  rigorous  distinction  of  ranks,  but  also  in  the  midst  of  a 
system  of  equality,  in  countries  where  society  is  most  remote 
from  every  kind  of  legal  and  permanent  classification.  In 
some  places  despotic  and  oppressive;  in  others  favorable  to 
the  progress  of  civilization  and  even  of  liberty;  it  is  like  a 
head  that  may  be  placed  on  many  different  bodies,  a  fruit 
that  may  grow  from  many  different  buds. 

In  this  fact  we  might  discover  many  important  and  curi- 
ous consequences.  I  shall  take  only  two;  the  first  is,  that 
such   a  result  cannot  possibly  be  the   offspring  of    mera 


CIVILIZATION    IN    MODERN    EUROPE.  169 

chance,  of  force  or  usurpation  only;  that  there  must  neces- 
sarily be,  between  the  nature  of  monarchy  considered  as  an 
institution,  and  the  nature  either  of  man  as  an  individual  or 
of  human  society,  a  strong  and  intimate  analogy.  Force,  on 
doubt,  has  had  its  share,  both  in  the  origin  and  progress  of 
the  institution;  but  as  often  as  you  met  with  a  result  like 
this,  as  often  as  you  see  a  great  event  develop  itself  or  recur 
during  a  long  series  of  ages,  and  in  the  midst  of  so  many 
different  situations,  never  ascribe  it  to  force.  Force  per- 
forms a  great  and  daily  part  in  human  affairs;  but  it  is  not 
the  principle  which  governs  their  movements:  there  is 
always,  superior  to  force,  and  the  part  which  it  performs,  a 
moral  cause  which  governs  the  general  course  of  events. 
Force,  in  the  history  of  society,  resembles  the  body  in  the 
history  of  man.  The  body  assuredly  holds  a  great  place  in 
the  life  of  man,  but  is  not  the  principle  of  life.  Life  cir- 
culates in  it,  but  does  not  emanate  from  it.  Such  is  also  the 
case  in  human  society;  whatever  part  force  may  play  in  them, 
it  does  not  govern  them,  or  exercise  a  supreme  control  over 
their  destinies;  this  is  the  province  of  reason,  of  the  moral 
influences  which  are  hidden  under  the  accidents  of  force, 
and  regulate  the  course  of  society.  We  may  unhesitatingly 
declare  that  it  was  to  a  cause  of  this  nature,  and  not  to  mere 
force,  that  monarchy  was  indebted  for  its  success. 

A  second  fact  of  almost  equal  importance  is  the  flexibility 
of  monarchy,  and  its  faculty  of  modifying  itself  and  adapting 
itself  to  a  variety  of  different  circumstances.  Observe  the 
contrast  which  it  presents;  its  form  reveals  unity,  perma- 
nence, simplicity.  It  does  not  exhibit  that  variety  of  com- 
binations which  are  found  in  other  institutions;  yet  it  accom- 
modates itself  to  the  most  dissimilar  states  of  society.  It 
becomes  evident  then  that  it  is  susceptible  of  great  diversity, 
and  capable  of  being  attached  to  many  dift'erent  elements 
and  principles  both  in  man  as  an  individual  and  in  society. 

It  is  because  we  have  not  considered  monarchy  in  all  its 
extent;  because  we  have  not,  on  the  one  hand,  discovered 
the  principle  which  forms  its  essence  and  subsists  under 
every  circumstance  to  which  it  maybe  applied;  and  because, 
on  the  other  hand,  we  have  not  taken  into  account  all  the 
variations  to  which  it  accommodates  itself,  and  all  the  prin- 
ciples with  which  it  can  enter  into  alliance; — it  is,  I  say, 
because  we  have  not  considered  monarchy  in  this  twofold, 
this  enlarged  point  of  view,  that  we  have  not  thoroughly 
understood  the  part  it  has  performed  in  the  history  of  the 


170  GENERAL    HISTORY    OF 

world,  and  have  often  been  mistaken  as  to  its  nature  and 
effects. 

This  is  the  task  which  I  should  wish  to  undertake  with 
you,  so  as  to  obtain  a  complete  and  precise  view  of  the 
effects  of  this  institution  in  modern  Europe;  whether  they 
have  flowed  from  its  intrinsic  principle,  or  from  the  modifi- 
cations which  it  has  undergone. 

There  is  no  doubt  that  the  strength  of  monarchy,  that 
moral  power  which  is  its  true  principle,  does  not  reside  in 
the  personal  will  of  the  man  who  for  the  time  happens  to  be 
king;  there  is  no  doubt  that  the  people  in  accepting  it  as  an 
institution,  that  philosophers  in  maintaining  it  as  a  system, 
have  not  meant  to  accept  the  empire  of  the  will  of  an  indi- 
vidual— a  will  essentially  arbitrary,  capricious,  and  ignorant. 

Monarchy  is  something  quite  different  from  the  will  of 
an  individual,  though  it  presents  itself  under  that  form.  It 
is  the  personification  of  legitimate  sovereignty — of  the  col- 
lective, will  and  aggregate  wisdom  of  a  people — of  that  will 
which  is  essentially  reasonable,  enlightened,  just,  impartial 
— which  knows  naught  of  individual  wills,  though  by  the 
title  of  legitimate  monarchy,  earned  by  these  conditions,  it 
has  the  right  to  govern  them.  Such  is  the  meaning  of 
monarchy  as  understood  by  the  people,  and  such  is  the 
motive  of  their  adhersion  to  it. 

Is  it  true  that  there  is  a  legitimate  sovereignty,  a  will 
which  has  a  right  to  govern  mankind?  They  certainly  be- 
lieve that  there  is;  for  they  endeavor,  have  always  endeav- 
ored, and  cannot  avoid  endeavoring,  to  place  themselves 
under  its  empire.  Conceive,  I  shall  not  say  a  people,  but 
the  smallest  community  of  men;  conceive  it  in  subjection  to 
a  sovereign  who  is  such  only  de  facto ^  to  a  power  which  has 
no  other  right  but  that  of  force,  which  does  not  govern  by 
the  title  of  reason  and  justice;  human  nature  instantly  revolts 
against  a  sovereignty  such  as  this.  Human  nature,  there- 
fore, must  believe  in  legitimate  sovereignty.  It  is  this 
sovereignty  alone,  the  sovereignty  de  jure,  which  man  seeks 
for,  and  which  alone  he  consents  to  obey.  What  is  history 
but  a  demonstration  of  this  universal  fact?  What  are  most 
of  the  struggles  which  harass  the  lives  of  nations  but  so 
many  determined  impulses  toward  this  legitimate  sovereignty, 
in  order  to  place  themselves  under  its  empire?  And  it  is  not 
only  the  people,  but  philosophers,  who  firmly  believe  in  its 
existence  and  incessantly  seek  it.     What  are  all  the  systems 


CIVILIZATION    IN    MODERN    EUROPE.  171 

of  political  philosophy  but  attempts  to  discern  the  legitimate 
sovereignty?  What  is  the  object  of  their  investigations  but 
to  discover  who  has  the  right  to  govern  society?  Take 
theocracy,  monarchy,  aristocracy,  democracy;  they  all  boast 
of  having  discovered  the  seat  of  legitimate  sovereignty;  they 
all  promise  to  place  society  under  the  authority  of  its  rightful 
master.  This,  I  repeat,  is  the  object  of  all  the  labor  of 
philosophers,  as  well  as  of  all  the  efforts  of  nations. 

How  can  philosophers  and  nations  do  otherwise  than  be- 
lieve in  this  legitimate  sovereignty?  How  can  they  do  other- 
wise than  strive  incessantly  to  discover  it?  Let  us  suppose 
the  simplest  case;  for  instance,  some  act  to  be  performed, 
either  affecting  society  in  general,  or  some  portion  of  its 
members,  or  even  a  single  individual;  it  is  evident  that  in 
such  a  case  there  must  be  some  rule  of  action,  some  legiti- 
mate will  to  be  followed  and  applied.  Whether  we  enter 
into  the  most  minute  details  of  social  life,  or  participate  in 
its  most  momentous  concerns,  we  shall  always  meet  with  a 
truth  to  be  discovered,  a  law  of  reason  to  be  applied  to  the 
realities  of  human  affairs.  It  is  this  law  which  constitutes 
that  legitimate  sovereignty  toward  which  other  philosophers 
and  nations  have  never  ceased,  and  can  never  cease,  to 
aspire. 

But  how  far  can  legitimate  sovereignty  be  represented, 
generally  and  permanently,  by  an  earthly  power,  by  a  human 
will?  Is  there  anything  necessarily  false  and  dangerous  in 
such  an  assumption  ?  What  are  we  to  think  in  particular  of 
the  personihcation  of  legitimate  sovereignty  under  the  image 
of  royalty?  On  what  conditions,  and  within  what  limits,  is 
this  personification  admissible?  These  are  great  questions, 
which  it  is  not  my  business  now  to  discuss,  but  which  I  can- 
not avoid  noticing,  and  on  which  I  shall  say  a  few  words  in 
passing. 

I  affirm,  and  the  plainest  common  sense  must  admit, 
that  legitimate  sovereignty,  in  its  complete  and  permanent 
form,  cannot  belong  to  any  one;  and  that  every  attribution 
of  legitimate  sovereignty  to  any  human  power  whatever  is 
radically  false  and  dangerous.  Thence  arises  the  necessity 
of  the  limitation  of  every  power,  whatever  may  be  its  name 
or  form;  thence  arises  the  radical  illegitimacy  of  every  sort 
of  absolute  power,  whatever  may  be  its  origin,  whether 
conquest,  inheritance,  or  election  We  may  differ  as  to  the 
best  means  of  finding  the  legitimate  sovereignty;  they  w^^y 


172  GENERAL    HISTORY    OF 

according  to  the  diversities  of  place  and  time;  but  there  is  no 
place  or  time  at  which  any  power  can  legitimately  be  the 
independent  possessor  of  this  sovereignty. 

This  principle  being  laid  down,  it  is  equally  certain  that 
monarchy,  under  whatever  system  we  consider  it,  presents 
itself  as  the  personification  of  the  legitimate  sovereignty. 
Listen  to  the  supporters  of  theocracy;  they  will  tell  you  that 
kings  are  the  image  of  God  upon  earth,  which  means  nothing 
more  than  that  they  are  the  personification  of  supreme  jus- 
tice, truth  and  goodness.  Turn  to  the  jurists;  they  will  tell 
you  that  the  king  is  the  living  law;  which  means,  again,  that 
the  king  is  the  personification  of  the  legitimate  sovereignty, 
of  that  law  of  justice  which  is  entitled  to  govern  society. 
Interrogate  monarchy  itself  in  its  pure  and  unmixed  form; 
it  will  tell  you  that  it  is  the  personification  of  the  state,  of 
the  commonwealth.  In  whatever  combination,  in  whatever 
situation,  monarchy  is  considered,  you  will  find  that  it  is 
always  held  out  as  representing  this  legitimate  sovereignty, 
this  power,  which  alone  is  capable  of  lawfully  governing 
society. 

We  need  not  be  surprised  at  this.  What  are  the  charac- 
teristic of  this  legitimate  sovereignty,  and  which  are  derived 
from  its  very  nature?  In  the  first  place,  it  is  single;  since 
there  is  but  one  truth,  one  justice,  so  there  can  be  but  one 
legitimate  sovereignty.  It  is,  moreover,  permanent,  and 
always  the  same,  for  truth  is  unchangeable.  It  stands  on  a 
high  vantage-ground,  beyond  the  reach  of  the  vicissitudes 
and  chances  of  this  world,  with  which  it  is  only  connected 
in  the  character,  as  it  were,  of  a  spectator  and  a  judge. 
Well,  then,  these  being  the  rational  and  natural  characteris- 
tics of  the  legitimate  sovereignty,  it  is  monarchy  which  ex- 
hibits them  under  the  most  palpable  forms,  and  seems  to  be 
their  most  faithful  image.  Consult  the  work  in  which  M. 
Benjamin  Constant  has  so  ingeniously  represented  monarchy, 
as  a  neutral  and  moderating  power,  raised  far  above  the 
struggles  and  casualties  of  society,  and  never  interfering 
but  in  great  and  critical  conjunctures.  Is  not  this,  so  to 
speak,  the  attitude  of  the  legitimate  sovereignty,  in  the 
government  of  human  affairs?  There  must  be  something  in 
this  idea  peculiarly  calculated  to  strike  the  mind,  for  it  has 
passed,  with  singular  rapidity,  from  books  into  the  actual 
conduct  of  affairs.  A  sovereign  has  made  it,  in  the  consti- 
tntion  of  Brazil,  the  very  basis  of  his  throne.     In  that  con- 


CIVILIZATION    IN    MODERN    EUROPE.  I73 

Stitution,  monarchy  is  represented  as  a  moderating  power, 
elevated  above  the  active  powers  of  the  state,  like  their 
spectator  and  their  judge. 

Under  whatever  point  of  view  )^ou  consider  monarchy, 
when  you  compare  it  with  the  legitimate  sovereignty,  you 
will  find  a  great  outward  resemblance  between  them — a  re- 
semblance with  which  the  human  mind  must  necessarily 
have  been  struck.  Whenever  the  reflection  or  the  imagina- 
tion of  men  has  especially  turned  toward  the  contemplation 
or  study  of  legitimate  sovereignty,  and  of  its  essential  quali- 
ties, it  has  inclined  toward  monarchy.  Thus  in  the  times 
when  religious  ideas  preponderated,  the  habitual  contempla- 
,tion  of  the  nature  of  God  impelled  mankind  toward  the 
monarchical  system.  In  the  same  manner,  when  the  influence 
of  jurists  prevailed  in  society,  the  habit  of  studying,  under 
the  name  of  law,  the  nature  of  the  legitimate  sovereignty, 
was  favorable  to  the  dogma  of  its  personification  in  the  in- 
stitution of  monarchy.  The  attentive  application  of  the 
human  mind  to  the  contemplation  of  the  nature  and  qualities 
of  the  legitimate  sovereignty,  when  there  w:ere  no  other 
causes  to  destroy  its  effect,  has  always  given  strength  and 
consideration  to  monarchy,  as  being  its  image. 

There  are,  too,  certain  junctures,  which  are  particularly 
favorable  to  this  personification;  such,  for  example,  as  when 
individual  forces  display  themselves  in  the  world  with  all 
their  uncertainties;  all  their  waywardness;  when  selfishness 
predominates  in  individuals,  either  through  ignorance  and 
brutality,  or  through  corruption.  At  such  times,  society, 
distracted  by  the  conflict  of  individual  wills,  and  unable  to 
attain,  by  their  free  concurrence,  to  a  general  will,  which 
might  hold  them  in  subjection,  feels  an  ardent  desire  for  a 
sovereign  power,  to  which  all  individuals  must  submit;  and, 
as  soon  as  any  institution  presents  itself  which  bears  any  of 
the  characteristics  of  legitimate  sovereignty,  society  rallies 
round  it  with  eagerness;  as  people,  under  proscription,  take 
refuge  in  the  sanctuary  of  a  church.  This  is  what  has  taken 
place  in  the  wild  and  disorderly  youth  of  nations,  such  as 
those  we  have  passed  through.  Monarchy  is  wonderfully 
suited  to  those  times  of  strong  and  fruitful  anarchy,  if  I  may 
so  speak,  in  which  society  is  striving  to  form  and  regulate 
itself,  but  is  unable  to  do  so  by  the  free  concurrence  of  in- 
dividual wills.  There  are  other  times  when  monarchy, 
though  from  a  contrary  cause,  has  the  same  merit.  AVhy 
did  the  Roman  world,  so  near  dissolution  at  the  end  of  the 
republic,  still  subsist  for  more  than  fifteen  centuries,  under 


174  GENERAL    HISTORY    OF 

the  name  of  an  empire,  which,  after  all,  was  nothing  but  a 
lingering  deca}^  a  protracted  death-struggle?  Monarchy, 
alone,  could  produce  such  an  effect;  monarchy,  alone,  could 
maintain  a  state  of  society  which  the  spirit  of  selfishness  in- 
cessantly tended  to  destroy.  The  imperial  power  contended 
for  fifteen  centuries  against  the  ruin  of  the  Roman  world. 

It  thus  appears  that  there  are  times  when  monarchy, 
alone,  can  retard  the  dissolution,  and  times  when  it,  alone, 
can  accelerate  the  formation  of  society.  And  it  is,  in  both 
cases,  because  it  represents,  more  clearly  than  any  othe:: 
form  of  government  can  do,  the  legitimate  sovereignty,  that 
it  exercises  this  power  over  the  course  of  events. 

Under  whatever  point  of  view  you  consider  this  institu-* 
tion,  and  at  whatever  period  you  take  it,  you  will  find,  there- 
fore, that  its  essential  character,  its  moral  principle,  its  true 
meaning,  the  cause  of  its  strength,  is,  its  being  the  image, 
the  personification,  the  presumed  interpreter,  of  that  single, 
superior,  and  essentially  legitimate  will,  which  alone  has  a 
right  to  govern  society. 

Let  us  now  consider  monarchy  under  the  second  point  of 
view,  that  is  to  say,  in  its  flexibility,  the  variety  of  parts  it  has 
performed  and  of  effects  it  has  produced.  Let  us  endeavor 
to  account  for  this  character,  and  ascertain  its  causes. 

Here  we  have  an  advantage;  we  can  at  once  return  to 
history,  and  to  the  history  of  our  own  country.  By  a  con- 
currence of  singular  circumstances,  monarchy  in  modern 
Europe  has  but  one  very  character  which  it  has  ever  ex- 
hibited in  the  history  of  the  world.  European  monarchy  has 
been,  in  some  sort,  the  result  of  all  the  possible  kinds  of 
monarchy.  In  running  over  its  history,  from  the  fifth  to 
the  twelfth  century,  you  will  see  the  variety  of  aspects  under 
which  it  appears,  and  the  extent  to  which  we  everywhere 
find  that  variety,  complication,  and  contention,  which  char- 
acterize the  w^hole  course  of  European  civilization. 

In  the  fifth  century,  at  the  time  of  the  great  invasion  of 
the  Germans,  two  monarchies  were  in  existence — the  bar- 
barian monarchy  of  Clovis,  and  the  imperial  monarchy  of 
Constantine.  They  were  very  different  from  each  other  in 
prmciples  and  effects. 

The  barbarian  monarchy  was  essentially  elective.  The 
German  kings  were  elected,  though   their  election  did  not 


CIVILIZATION    IN    MODERN    EUROPE.  I75 

taRe  place  in  the  form  to  which  we  are  accustomed  to  attach 
that  idea.  They  were  mihtary  chiefs,  whose  power  was 
freely  accepted  by  a  great  number  of  their  companions,  by 
whom  they  were  obeyed  as  being  the  bravest  and  most  com- 
petent to  rule.  Election  was  the  true  source  of  this  barbarian 
monarchy,  its  primitive  and  essential  character. 

It  is  true  that  this  character,  in  the  fifth  century,  was 
already  somewhat  modified,  and  that  different  elements  were 
introduced  into  monarchy.  Different  tribes  had  possessed 
their  chiefs  for  a  certain  space  of  time;  families  had  arisen, 
more  considerable  and  wealthier  than  the  rest.  This  pro- 
duced the  beginning  of  hereditary  succession;  the  chief 
being  almost  always  chosen  from  these  families.  This  was 
the  first  principle  of  a  different  nature  which  became  asso- 
ciated with  the  leading  principle  of  election. 

Another  element  had  already  entered  into  the  institution 
of  barbarian  monarchy — I  mean  the  element  of  religion. 
We  find  among  some  of  the  barbarian  tribes — the  Goths,  for 
example — the  conviction  that  the  families  of  their  kings  were 
descended  from  the  families  of  their  gods  or  of  their  deified 
heroes,  such  as  Odin.  This,  too,  was  the  case  with  Homer's 
monarchs,  who  were  the  issue  of  gods  or  demi-gods,  and,  by 
this  title,  objects  of  religious  veneration,  notwithstanding 
the  limited  extent  of  their  power. 

Such  was  the  barbarian  monarchy  of  the  fifth  century, 
whose  primitive  principle  still  predominated,  though  it  had 
itself  grown  diversified  and  wavering. 

I  now  take  the  monarchy  of  the  Roman  empire,  the  prin- 
ciple of  which  was  totally  different.  It  was  the  personifica- 
tion of  the  state,  the  heir  of  the  sovereignty  and  majesty  of 
the  Roman  people.  Consider  the  monarchy  of  Augustus  of 
Tiberius:  the  emperor  was  the  representative  of  the  senate; 
the  assemblies  of  the  people,  the  whole  republic. 

Was  not  this  evident  from  the  modest  language  of  the 
first  emperors — of  such  of  them,  at  least,  as  were  men  of 
sense  and  understood  their  situation?  They  felt  that  they 
stood  in  the  presence  of  the  people,  who  themselves  had 
lately  possessed  the  sovereign  power,  which  they  had  abdi- 
cated in  their  favor;  and  addressed  the  people  as  their 
representatives  and  ministers.  But  in  reality  they  exercised 
all  the  power  of  the  people,  and  Ihat,  too,  in  its  most  exag- 
gerated and  fearful  form.  Such  a  transformation  it  is  easy 
for  us  to  comprehend;  we  have  witnessed  it  oursel'.es;  we 
have  seen  the  sovereingty  transferred  from  the  people  to  the 


176  GENERAL    HISTORY    Of 

person  of  a  single  individual;  this  was  the  history  of  Napo- 
leon. He  also  was  a  personification  of  the  sovereignty  of 
the  people;  and  constantly  expressed  himself  to  that  effect. 
"Who  has  been  elected,"  he  said,  "like  me,  by  eighteen 
millions  of  men?  who  is,  like  me,  the  representative  of  the 
people?"  and  when,  upon  his  coins,  we  read  on  one  side 
Republique  Frajicaise,  and  on  the  other  Napoleon  Empereiir^ 
what  is  this  but  an  example  of  the  fact  which  I  am  describ- 
ing, of  the  people  having  become  the  monarch? 

Such  was  the  fundamental  character  of  the  imperial 
monarchy;  it  preserved  this  character  during  the  three  first 
centuries  of  the  empire;  and  it  was,  indeed,  only  under 
Diocletian  that  it  assumed  its  complete  and  definitive  form. 
It  was  then,  however,  on  the  eve  of  undergoing  a  great 
change;  a  new  kind  of  monarchy  was  about  to  appear. 
During  three  centuries  Christianity  had  been  endeavoring  to 
introduce  into  the  empire  the  element  of  religion.  It  was 
under  Constantine  that  Christianity  succeeded,  not  in  mak- 
ing religion  the  prevailing  element,  but  in  giving  it  a  promi- 
nent part  to  perform.  Monarchy  here  presents  itself  under 
a  different  aspect;  it  is  not  of  earthly  origin:  the  prince  is 
not  the  representative  of  the  sovereignty  of  the  public;  he  is 
the  image,  the  representative,  the  delegate  of  God.  Power 
descends  to  him  from  on  high,  while,  in  the  imperial  mon- 
archy, power  had  ascended  from  below.  These  were  totally 
different  situations.,  with  totally  different  results.  The 
rights  of  freedom  and  political  securities  are  difficult  to  com- 
bine with  the  principle  of  religious  monarchy;  but  the  prin- 
ciple itself  is  high,  moral,  and  salutary.  I  shall  show  you 
the  idea  which  was  formed  of  the  prince,  in  the  seventh  cen- 
tury, under  the  system  of  religious  monarchy.  I  take  it 
from  the  canons  of  the  Council  of  Toledo. 

*'  The  king  is  called  7-ex  because  he  governs  with  justice. 
If  he  acts  justly  [recfe)  he  has  a  legitimate  title  to  the  name 
of  king;  if  he  acts  unjustly,  he  loses  all  claim  to  it.  Our 
fathers,  therefore,  said  with  reason,  rex  ejus  eris  si  recta 
facisj  si  aiitem  non  facis^  non  eris.  The  two  principal  virtues 
of  a  king  are  justice  and  truth  (the  science  of  truth,  reason), 

"The  depository  of  the  royal  power,  no  less  than  the 
whole  body  of  the  people,  is  bound  to  respect  the  laws. 
While  we  obey  the  will  of  Heaven,  we  make  for  ourselves, 
as  well  as  our  subjects,  wise  laws,  obedience  to  which  is 
obligatory  on  ourselves  and  our  successors,  as  well  as  upon 
all  the  population  of  our  kingdom.         ..... 


CIVILIZATION    IN    MODERN    EUROPE.  I'j'j 

"  God,  the  creator  of  all  things,  in  constructing  the 
human  body,  has  raised  the  head  aloft,  and  has  willed  that 
from  it  should  proceed  the  nerves  of  all  the  members,  and  he 
has  placed  in  the  head  the  torches  of  the  eyes,  in  order  to 
throw  light  upon  every  dangerous  object.  In  like  manner 
he  has  established  the  power  of  intelligence,  giving  it  the 
charge  of  governing  all  the  members,  and  of  prudently 
regulating  their  action.  ....... 

"  It  is  necessary  then  to  regulate,  first  of  all,  those  things 
which  relate  to  princes,  to  provide  for  their  safety,  and  pro- 
tect their  life,  and  then  those  things  which  concern  the' 
people,  in  such  a  manner,  that  in  properly  securing  the 
safety  of  kings,  that  of  the  people  may  be,  at  the  same  time, 
and  so  much  the  more  effectually,  secured." 

But,  in  the  system  of  religious  monarchy,  there  is  almost 
always  another  element  introduced  besides  monarchy  itself. 
A  new  power  takes  its  place  by  its  side;  a  power  nearer  to 
God,  the  source  whence  monarchy  emanates,  than  monarchy 
itself.  This  is  the  clergy,  the  ecclesiastical  power  which  in- 
terposes between  God  and  kings,  and  between  kings  and 
people,  in  such  sort,  that  monarchy,  though  the  image  of  the 
Divinity,  runs  the  hazard  of  falling  to  the  rank  of  an  instru- 
ment in  the  hands  of  the  human  interpreters  of  the  Divine 
will.  This  is  a  new  cause  of  diversity  in  the  destinies  and 
effects  of  the  institution. 

The  different  kinds  of  monarchy,  then,  which,  in  the  fifth 
century,  made  their  appearance  on  the  ruins  of  the  Roman 
empire,  were,  the  barbarian  monarchy,  the  imperial  mon- 
archy, and  religious  monarchy  in  its  infancy.  Their  fortunes 
were  as  different  as  their  principles. 

In  France,  under  the  first  race,  barbarian  monarchy  pre- 
vailed. There  were,  indeed,  some  attempts  on  the  part  of 
the  clergy  to  impress  upon  it  the  imperial  or  religious 
character;  but  the  system  of  election,  in  the  royal  family, 
with  some  mixture  of  inheritance  and  of  religious  notions, 
remained  predominant. 

In  Italy,  among  the  Ostrogoths,  the  imperial  monarchy 
overcame  the  barbarous  customs.  Theodoric  considered 
himself  as  successor  of  the  emperors.  It  is  sufficient  to  read 
Cassiodorus  to  perceive  that  this  was  the  character  of  his 
government. 

In  Spain,  monarchy  appeared  more  religious  than  else- 
where. As  the  councils  of  Toledo,  though  I  shall  not  call 
them  absolute,   were  the  influencing  power,   the    religious 


178  GENERAL    HISTORY    OF 

character  predominated,  if  not  in  the  government,  properly 
so  called,  of  the  Visigothic  kings,  at  least  in  the  laws  which 
the  clergy  suggested  to  them,  and  the  language  they  made 
them  speak. 

In  England,  among  the  Saxons,  manners  remained  al- 
most wholly  barbarous.  The  kingdoms  of  the  heptarchy 
were  little  else  than  the  territories  of  different  bands,  every 
one  having  its  chief.  Military  election  appears  more  evi- 
dently among  them  than  anywhere  else.  The  Anglo-Saxon 
monarchy  is  the  most  faithful  type  of  the  barbarian  mon- 
archy. 

Thus,  from  the  fifth  to  the  seventh  century,  at  the  same 
time  that  all  these  three  sorts  of  monarchy  manifested  them- 
selves in  general  facts,  one  or  other  of  them  prevailed,  ac- 
cording to  circumstances,  in  the  different  states  of  Europe. 

Such  was  the  prevailing  confusion  at  this  period,  that 
nothing  of  a  general  or  p'ermanent  nature  could  be  estab- 
lished; and,  from  vicissitude  to  vicissitude,  we  arrive  at  the 
eighth  century  without  finding  that  monarchy  has  anywhere 
assumed  a  definitive  character. 

Toward  the  middle  of  the  eighth  century,  and  with  the 
triumph  of  the  second  race  of  the  Frank  kings,  events 
assume  a  more  general  character,  and  become  clearer;  as 
they  were  transacted  on  a  larger  scale,  they  can  be  better 
understood  and  have  more  evident  results.  The  different 
kinds  of  monarchy  were  sjiortly  destined  to  succeed  and 
combine  with  one  another  in  a  very  striking  manner. 

At  the  time  when  the  Carlovingians  replaced  the  ]\Iero- 
vingians,  we  perceive  a  return  of  the  barbarian  monarchy. 
Election  reappeared;  Pepin  got  himself  elected  at  Soissons. 
When  the  first  Carlovingians  gave  kingdoms  to  their  sons, 
they  took  care  that  they  should  be  acknowledged  by  the 
chief  men  of  the  states  assigned  to  them.  When  they  divided 
a  kingdom,  they  desired  that  the  partition  should  be  sanc- 
tioned in  the  national  assemblies.  In  short,  the  elective  prin- 
ciple, under  the  form  of  popular  acceptance,  again  assumed 
a  certain  reality.  You  remember  that  this  change  of  dynasty 
was  like  a  new  inroad  of  the  Germans  into  the  west  of 
Europe,  and  brought  back  some  shadow  of  their  ancient 
institutions  and  manners. 

At  the  same  time,  we  see  the  religious  principle  more 
clearly  introducing  itself  into  monarchy,  and  performing  a 
part  of  greater  nnportance.     Pepin  was  acknowledged  and 


CIVILIZATION    IN    MODERN    EUROPE.  1 79 

consecrated  by  the  pope.  He  felt  that  he  stood  in  need  of 
the  sanction  of  religion;  it  was  already  become  a  great  power, 
and  he  sought  its  assistance.  Charlemagne  adopted  the 
same  policy;  and  religious  monarchy  thus  developed  itself. 
Still,  however,  under  Charlemagne,  religion  was  not  the 
prevailing  character  of  his  government;  the  imperial  system 
of  monarchy  was  that  which  he  wished  to  revive.  Although 
he  allied  himself  closely  with  the  clergy,  he  made  use  of 
them,  and  was  not  their  instrument.  The  idea  of  a  great 
state,  of  a  great  political  combination — the  resurrection,  in 
short,  of  the  Roman  empire,  was  the  favorite  day-dream  of 
Charlemagne. 

He  died,  and  was  succeeded  by  Louis  le  Debonnaire. 
Everybody  knows  the  character  to  which  the  royal  power 
was  then,  for  a  short  time,  reduced.  The  king  fell  into  the 
hands  of  the  clergy,  who  censured,  deposed,  re-instated,  and 
governed  him;  a  monarchy  subordinate  to  religious  authority 
seemed  on  the  point  of  being  established. 

Thus,  from  the  middle  of  the  eighth  to  the  middle  of  the 
ninth  century,  the  diversity  of  the  three  kinds  of  monarchy 
became  manifested  by  events  important,  closely  connected 
and  clear. 

After  the  death  of  Louis  le  Debonnaire,  during  the  state 
of  disorder  into  which  Europe  fell,  the  three  kinds  of  mon- 
archy almost  equally  disappeared:  everything  became  con- 
founded. At  the  end  of  a  certain  time,  when  the  feudal  sys- 
tem had  prevailed,  a  fourth  kind  of  monarchy  presented  itself, 
differing  from  all  those  which  had  been  hitherto  observed: 
this  was  feudal  monarchy.  It  is  confused  in  its  nature,  and 
cannot  easily  be  defined.  It  has  been  said  that  the  king,  in 
the  feudal  system  of  government,  was  the  suzerain  over 
suzerains^  the  lord  over  lords;  that  he  was  connected  by  firm 
links,  from  degree  to  degree,  with  the  whole  frame  of 
society;  and  that,  in  calling  around  him  his  own  vassals, 
then  the  vassals  of  his  vassals,  and  so  on  in  gradation,  he 
exercised  his  authority  over  the  whole  mass  of  the  people, 
and  showed  himself  to  be  really  a  king.  I  do  not  deny  that 
this  is  the  theory  of  feudal  monarchy:  but  it  is  a  mere  theory, 
which  has  never  governed  facts.  This  pretended  influence 
of  the  king  by  means  of  a  hierarchical  organization,  these  links 
which  are  supposed  to  have  united  monarchy  to  the  whole 
body  of  feudal  society,  are  the  dreams  of  speculative  politi- 
cians.    In   fact,  the  greatest  part  of  the  feudal  chieftains 


l8o  GENERAL    HISTORY    OF 

at  that  period  were  completely  independent  of  the  monarchy; 
many  of  them  hardly  knew  it  even  by  name,  and  had  few  or 
no  relations  with  it:  every  kind  of  sovereignty  was  local  and 
independent.  'I'he  name  of  king,  borne  by  one  of  these 
feudal  chiefs,  does  not  so  much  express  a  fact  as  a  remem- 
brance. 

Such  is  the  state  in  which  monarchy  presents  itself  in  the 
course  of  the  tenth  and  eleventh  centuries. 

In  the  twelfth,  at  the  accession  of  Louis  le  Gros,  things 
began  to  change  their  aspect.  The  king  was  more  frequently 
spoken  of;  his  influence  penetrated  into  places  which  it  had 
not  previously  reached;  he  assumed  a  more  active  part  in 
society.  If  we  inquire  into  this  title,  we  recognize  none  of 
those  titles  of  which  monarchy  had  previously  been  accus- 
tomed to  avail  itself.  It  was  not  by  inheritance  from  the 
emperors,  or  by  the  title  of  imperial  monarchy,  that  this  in- 
stitution aggrandized  itself,  and  assumed  more  consistency. 
Neither  was  it  in  virtue  of  election,  or  as  being  an  emanation 
from  divine  power:  every  appearance  of  election  had  van- 
ished; the  principle  of  inheritance  definitively  prevailed:  and 
notwithstanding  the  sanction  given  by  religion  to  the  acces- 
sion of  kings,  the  minds  of  men  did  not  appear  to  be  at  all 
occupied  with  the  religious  character  of  the  monarchy  of 
Louis  le  Gros.  A  new  element,  a  character  hitherto  un- 
known, was  introduced  into  monarchy;  a  new  species  of 
monarchy  began  to  exist. 

Society,  I  need  hardly  repeat,  was  at  this  period  in  very 
great  disorder,  and  subject  to  constant  scenes  of  violence. 
Society,  in  itself,  was  destitute  of  means  to  struggle  against 
this  situation,  and  to  recover  some  degree  of  order  and 
unity.  The  feudal  institutions — those  parliaments  of  barons, 
those  seignorial  courts — all  those  forms  under  which,  in 
modern  times,  feudalism  has  been  represented  as  a  systematic 
and  orderly  state  of  government — all  these  things  were  un- 
real and  powerless;  there  was  nothing  in  them  which  could 
afford  the  means  of  estabishing  any  degree  of  order  or  jus- 
tice; so  that,  in  the  midst  of  social  anarchy,  no  one  knew  to 
whom  recourse  could  be  had,  in  order  to  redress  a  great 
injustice,  remedy  a  great  evil,  to  constitute  something  like  a 
state.  The  name  of  king  remained,  and  was  borne  by  some 
chief  whose  authority  was  acknowledged  by  a  few  others. 
The  different  titles,  however,  under  which  the  royal  power 
had  been  formerly  exercised,  though  they  had  no  great  in- 
fluence, yet  were  far  from  being  forgotten,  and  were  recalled 


CIVILIZATION    IN    MODERN    EUROPE.  l8l 

on  various  occasions.  It  happened  that,  in  order  to  re- 
estabhsh  some  degree  of  order  in  a  place  near  the  king's 
residence,  or  to  terminate  some  difference  which  had  lasted 
a  long  time,  recourse  was  had  to  him;  he  was  called  upon  to 
intervene  in  affairs  which  were  not  directly  his  own;  and  he 
intervened  as  a  protector  of  public  order,  as  arbitrator,  as 
redresser  of  wrongs.  The  moral  authority  which  continued 
to  be  attached  to  his  name  gained  for  him,  by  little  and  little, 
this  great  accession  of  power. 

Such  was  the  character  which  monarchy  began  to  assume 
under  Louis  le  Gros,  and  under  the  administration  of  Suger. 
Now,  for  the  first  time,  seems  to  have  entered  the  minds  of 
men  the  idea,  though  very  incomplete,  confused,  and  feeble, 
of  a  public  power,  unconnected  with  the  local  powers  which 
had  possession  of  society,  called  upon  to  render  justice  to 
those  who  could  not  obtain  it  by  ordinary  means,  and  capable 
of  producing,  or  at  least  commanding,  order; — the  idea  of  a 
great  magistracy,  whose  essential  character  was  to  maintain 
or  re-establish  the  peace  of  society,  to  protect  the  weak,  and 
to  decide  differences  which  could  not  be  otherwise  settled. 
Such  was  the  entirely  new  character,  in  which,  reckoning 
from  the  twelfth  century,  monarchy  appeared  in  Europe,  and 
especially  in  France.  It  w;as  neither  as  barbarian  monarchy, 
as  religious  monarchy,  nor  as  imperial  monarchy,  that  the 
royal  power  was  exercised;  this  kind  of  monarchy  possessed 
only  a  limited,  incomplete,  and  fortuitous  power; — a  power 
which  I  cannot  more  precisely  describe  than  by  saying  that 
it  was,  in  some  sort,  that  of  the  chief  conservator  of  the 
public  peace. 

This  is  the  true  origin  of  modern  monarchy;  this  is  its 
vital  principle,  if  I  may  so  speak;  it  is  this  which  has  been 
developed  in  the  course  of  its  career,  and,  I  have  no  hesita- 
tion in  saying,  has  ensured  its  success.  At  different  periods 
of  history  we  observe  the  re-appearance  of  the  various 
characters  of  monarchy;  we  see  the  different  kinds  of  mon- 
archy which  I  have  described,  endeavoring,  by  turns,  to 
recover  the  preponderance.  Thus,  the  clergy  have  always 
preached  religious  monarchy;  the  civilians  have  labored  to 
revive  the  principle  of  imperial  monarchy;  the  nobility  would 
sometimes  have  wished  to  renew  elective  monarchy,  or  main- 
tain feudal  monarchy.  And  not  only  have  the  clergy,  the 
civilians,  and  the  nobility,  attempted  to  give  such  or  such  a 
character  a  predominance  in  the  monarchy,  but  monarchy 


1^2  GENERAL    HISTORY    OF    CIVILIZATION. 

itself  has  made  them  all  contribute  toward  the  aggrandize- 
ment of  its  own  power.  Kings  ha^^e  represented  themselves 
sometimes  as  the  delegates  of  God,  sometimes  as  the  heirs 
of  the  emperors,  or  as  the  first  noblemen  of  the  land,  accord- 
ing to  the  occasion  or  public  wish  of  the  moment;  they  have 
illegitimately  availed  themselves  of  these  various  titles,  but 
none  of  them  has  been  the  real  title  of  modern  monarchy,  or 
the  source  of  its  preponderating  influence.  It  is,  I  repeat, 
as  depository  and  protector  of  public  order,  of  general  jus- 
tice, and  of  the  common  interest — it  is  under  the  aspect  of  a 
chief  magistracy,  the  centre  and  bond  of  society,  that  modern 
monarchy  has  presented  itself  to  the  people,  and,  in  obtain- 
ing their  adhesion,  has  made  their  strength  its  own. 

You  will  see,  as  w^e  proceed,  this  characteristic  of  the 
monarchy  of  modern  Europe,  which  began,  I  repeat,  in  the 
twelfth  century,  and  in  the  reign  of  Louis  le  Gros,  confirm 
and  develop  itself,  and  become  at  length,  if  I  may  so  speak, 
the  political  physiognomy  of  the  institution.  It  is  by  this 
that  monarchy  has  contributed  to  the  great  result  which  now 
characterizes  European  society,  the  reduction  of  all  the  social 
elements  to  two — the  government  and  the  nation. 

Thus  it  appears,  that,  at  the  breaking  out  of  the  crusades, 
Europe  entered  upon  the  path  which  was  to  conduct  her  to 
her  present  state:  you  have  just  seen  monarchy  assume  the 
important  part  which  it  was  destined  to  perform  in  this  great 
transformation.  We  shall  consider,  at  our  next  meeting,  the 
different  attempts  at  political  organization,  made  from  the 
twelfth  to  the  sixteenth  century,  in  order  to  maintain,  by 
regulating  it,  the  order  of  things  that  was  about  to  perish. 
We  shall  consider  the  efforts  of  feudalism,  of  the  Church, 
and  even  of  the  free  cities,  to  constitute  society  according  to 
its  ancient  principles,  and  under  its  primitive  forms,  and  thus 
to  defend  themselves  against  the  general  change  which  was 
preparing. 

I 


LECTURE   X. 

VARIOUS     ATTEMPTS     TO     FORM     THE     SEVERAL     SOCIAL     ELE- 
MENTS   INTO    ONE    SOCIETY. 

At  the  commencement  of  this  lecture  I  wish,  at  once,  to 
determnine  its  object  with  precision.  It  will  be  recollected, 
that  one  of  the  first  facts  that  struck  us,  was  the  diversity, 
the  separation,  the  independence,  of  the  elements  of  an- 
cient European  society.  The  feudal  nobility,  the  clergy, 
and  the  commons,  had  each  a  position,  laws,  and  manners, 
entirely  different;  they  formed  so  many  distinct  societies 
whose  mode  of  government  was  independent  of  each  other, 
they  were  in  some  measure  connected,  and  in  contact,  but 
no  real  union  existed  between  them;  to  speak  correctly,  they 
did  not  form  a  nation — a  state. 

The  fusion  of  these  distinct  portions  of  society  into  one 
is,  at  length,  accomplished;  this  is  precisely  the  distinctive 
organization,  the  essential  characteristic  of  modern  society. 
The  ancient  social  elements  are  now  reduced  to  two — the 
government  and  the  people;  that  is  to  say,  diversity  ceased 
and  similitude  introduced  union.  Before,  however,  this 
result  took  place,  and  even  with  a  view  to  its  prevention, 
many  attempts  were  made  to  bring  all  these  separate  portions 
of  society  together,  without  destroying  their  diversity  and 
independence.  No  positive  attack  was  made  on  the  peculiar 
position  and  privileges  of  each  portion,  on  their  distinctive 
nature,  and  yet  there  was  an  attempt  made  to  form  them  into 
one  state,  one  national  body,  to  bring  them  all  under  one 
and  the  same  government. 

All  these  attempts  failed.  The  result  which  I  have 
noticed  above,  the  union  of  modem  society,  attests  their 
want  of  success.  Even  in  those  parts  of  Europe  where  some 
traces  of  the  ancient  diversity  of  the  social  elements  are  still 
to  be  met  with,  in  Germany,  for  instance,  where  a  real  feudal 
nobility  and  a  distinct  body  of  burghers  still  exist;  in  Eng- 
land, where  we  see  an  established  Church  enjoying  its  own 
revenues  and  its  own  peculiar  jurisdiction;  it  is  clear  that 
this  pretended  distinct  existence  is  a  shadow,  a  falsehood: 
that  these  special  societies  are  confounded  in  general  society, 


tS4  GENERAL    HISTORY    OF 

absorbed  in  the  state,  governed  by  the  public  authorities, 
controlled  by  the  same  system  of  polity,  carried  away  by  the 
same  current  of  ideas,  the  same  manners.  Again  I  assert, 
that  even  where  the  form  still  exists,  the  separation  and  in- 
dependence of  the  ancient  social  elements  have  no  longer 
any  reality. 

At  the  same  time,  these  attempts  at  rendering  the  ancient 
and  social  elements  co-ordinate,  without  changing  their  na- 
ture, at  forming  them  into  national  unity  without  annihilating, 
their  variety,  are  entitled  to  an  important  place  in  the  history 
of  Europe.  The  period  which  now  engages  our  attention — • 
that  period  which  separates  ancient  from  modern  Europe, 
and  in  which  was  accomplished  the  metamorphosis  of  Euro- 
pean society — is  almost  entirely  filled  with  them.  Not  only 
do  they  form  a  principal  part  of  the  history  of  this  period, 
but  they  had  a  considerable  influence  on  after  events,  on  the 
manner  in  which  was  effected  the  reduction  of  the  various 
social  elements  to  two — the  government  and  the  people.  It 
is  clearly,  then,  of  great  importance,  that  we  should  become 
well  acquainted  with  all  those  endeavors  at  political  organi- 
zation which  were  made  from  the  twelfth  to  the  sixteenth 
century,  for  the  purpose  of  creating  nations  and  govern- 
ments, without  destroying  the  diversity  of  secondary  societies 
placed  by  the  side  of  each  other.  These  attempts  form  the 
subject  of  the  present  lecture — a  laborious  and  even  painful 
task. 

All  these  attempts  at  political  organization  did  not,  cer- 
tainly, originate  from  a  good  motive;  too  many  of  them 
arose  from  selfishness  and  tyranny.  Yet  some  of  them  were 
pure  and  disinterested;  some  of  them  had,  truly,  for  their 
object  the  moral  and  social  welfare  of  mankind.  Society,  at 
this  time,  was  in  such  a  state  of  incoherence,  of  violence  and 
iniquity,  as  could  not  but  be  extremely  offensive  to  men  of 
enlarged  views — to  men  who  possessed  elevated  sentiments, 
and  who  labored  incessantly  to  discover  the  means  of  im- 
proving it.  Yet  even  the  best  of  these  noble  attempts  mis- 
carried; and  is  not  the  loss  of  so  much  courage — of  so  many 
sacrifices  and  endeavors — of  so  much  virtue,  a  melancholy 
spectacle?  And  what  is  still  more  painful,  a  still  more 
poignant  sorrow,  not  only  did  these  attempts  at  social  me- 
lioration fail,  but  an  enormous  mass  of  error  and  of  evil  was 
mingled  with  them.  Notwithstanding  good  intention,  the 
majority  of  them  were  absurd,  and  show  a  profound  igno- 
rance of  reason,  of  justice,  of  the  rights  of  humanity,  and  oC 


CIVILIZATION    IN    MODERN    EUROPE.  185 

the  conditions  of  the  social  state;  so  that  not  only  were  they 
unsuccessful,  but  it  was  right  that  they  should  be  so.  We 
have  here  a  specacle,  not  only  of  the  hard  lot  of  humanity, 
but  also  of  its  weakness.  We  may  here  see  how  the  smallest 
portion  of  truth  suffices  so  to  engage  the  whole  attention  of 
men  of  superior  intellect,  that  they  forget  everything  else, 
and  become  blind  to  all  that  is  not  comprised  within  the 
narrow  horizon  of  their  ideas.  We  may  here  see  how  the 
existence  of  ever  so  small  a  particle  of  justice  in  a  cause  is 
sufficient  to  make  them  lose  sight  of  all  the  injustice  which 
it  contains  and  permits.  This  display  of  the  vices  and  follies 
of  man  is,  in  my  opinion,  still  more  melancholy  to  contem- 
plate than  the  misery  of  this  condition;  his  faults  affect  me 
more  than  his  sufferings.  The  attempts  already  alluded  to 
will  bring  man  before  us  in  both  these  situations;  still  we 
must  not  shun  the  painful  retrospect;  it  behooves  us  not  to 
flinch  from  doing  justice  to  those  men,  to  those  ages  that 
have  so  often  erred,  so  miserably  failed,  and  yet  have  dis- 
played such  noble  virtues,  made  such  powerful  efforts, 
merited  so  much  glory. 

The  attempts  at  political  organization  which  were  formed 
from  the  twelfth  to  the  sixteenth  centuries  were  of  two  kinds; 
one  having  for  its  object  the  predominance  of  one  of  the 
social  elements;  sometimes  the  clergy,  sometimes  the  feudal 
nobility,  sometimes  the  free  cities,  and  making  all  the  others 
subordinate  to  it,  and  by  such  a  sacrifice  to  introduce  unity; 
the  other  proposed  to  cause  all  the  different  societies  to  agree 
and  to  act  together,  leaving  to  each  portion  its  liberty,  and 
ensuring  to  each  its  due  share  of  influence. 

The  attempts  of  the  former  kind  are  much  more  open  to 
supicion  of  self-interest  and  tyranny  than  the  latter;  in  fact, 
they  were  not  spotless;  from  their  very  nature  they  were 
essentially  tyrannical  in  their  mode  of  execution;  yet  some 
of  them  might  have  been,  and  indeed  were,  conceived  in  a 
spirit  of  pure  intention,  and  with  a  view  to  the  welfare  and 
advancement  of  mankind. 

The  first  attempt  which  presents  itself,  is  the  attempt  at 
theocratical  organization;  that  is  to  say,  the  design  of  bring- 
ing all  the  other  societies  into  a  state  of  submission  to  the 
principles  and  sway  of  ecclesiastical  society. 

I  must  here  refer  to  what  I  have  already  said  relative  to 
the  history  of  the  Church.  I  have  endeavored  to  show  what 
were  the  principles  it  developed — what  was  the  legitimate 


l86  GENERAL    HISTORY    OF 

part  of  each — how  these  principlse  arose  from  the  natural 
course  of  events — the  good  and  the  evil  produced  by  them. 
I  have  characterized  the  different  stages  through  which  the 
Church  passed  from  the  eighth  to  the  twelfth  century,  I 
have  pointed  out  the  state  of  the  Imperial  Church,  of  the 
Barbarian  Church,  of  the  Feudal  Church,  and  lastly,  of  the 
Theocratic  Church.  I  take  it  for  granted  that  ail  this  is 
present  in  your  recollection,  and  I  shall  now  endeavor  to 
show  you  what  the  clergy  did  in  order  to  obtain  the  govern- 
ment of  Europe,  and  why  they  failed  in  obtaining  it. 

The  attempt  at  theocratic  organization  appeared  at  an 
early  period,  both  in  the  acts  of  the  court  of  Rome,  and  in 
those  of  the  clergy  in  general;  it  naturally  proceeded  from 
the  political  and  moral  superiority  of  the  Church;  but,  from 
the  commencement,  such  obstacles  were  thrown  in  its  way, 
that,  even  in  its  greatest  vigor,  it  never  had  the  power  to 
overcome  them. 

The  first  obstacle  was  the  nature  itself  of  Christianity. 
Very  different,  in  this  respect,  from  the  greater  part  of  reli- 
gious creeds,  Christianity  established  itself  by  persuasion 
alone,  by  simple  moral  efforts;  even  at  its  birth  it  was  not 
armed  with  power;  in  its  earliest  years  it  conquered  by  words 
alone,  and  its  only  conquest  was  the  souls  of  men.  Even 
after  its  triumph,  even  when  the  Church  was  in  possession  of 
great  wealth  and  consideration,  the  direct  government  of 
society  was  not  placed  in  its  hands.  Its  origin,  purely 
moral,  springing  from  mental  influence  alone,  was  implanted 
in  its  constitution.  It  possessed  a  vast  influence,  but  it  had 
no  power.  It  gradually  insinuated  itself  into  the  municipal 
magistracies;  it  acted  powerfully  upon  the  emperors  and 
upon  all  their  agents;  but  the  positive  administration  of 
public  affairs — the  government,  properly  so  called — was  not 
possessed  by  the  Church.  Now,  a  system  of  government,  a 
theocracy,  as  well  as  any  other,  cannot  be  established  in  an 
indirect  manner,  by  mere  influence  alone;  it  must  possess 
the  judicial  and  ministerial  offices,  the  command  of  the 
forces,  be  in  receipt  of  the  imposts,  have  the  disposal  of  the 
revenues,  in  a  word,  it  must  govern — take  possession  of 
society.  Force  of  persuasion  may  do  much,  it  may  obtain 
great  influence  over  a  people,  and  even  over  governments  its 
sway  may  be  very  powerful;  but  it  cannot  govern,  it  cannot 
found  a  system,  it  cannot  take  possession  of  the  future. 
Such  has  been,  even  from  its  origin,  the  situation  of  the 
Christian  Church;  it  has  always  sided  with  government,  but 


CIVILIZATION    IN    MODERN    EUROPE.  187 

hever  superseded  it,  and  taken  its  place;  a  great  obstacle, 
which  the  attempt  at  theocratic  organization  was  never  able 
to  surmount. 

The  attempt  to  establish  a  theocracy  very  soon  met  with 
a  second  obstacle.  When  the  Roman  empire  was  destroyed, 
and  the  barbarian  states  were  established  on  its  ruins,  the 
Christian  Church  was  found  among  the  conquered.  It  was 
necessary  for  it  to  escape  from  this  situation;  to  begin  by 
converting  the  conquerors,  and  thus  to  raise  itself  to  their 
rank.  This  accomplished,  when  the  Church  aspired  to 
dominion,  it  had  to  encounter  the  pride  and  the  resistance 
of  the  feudal  nobility.  Europe  is  greatly  indebted  to  the 
laic  members  of  the  feudal  system  in  the  eleventh  century: 
the  people  were  almost  completely  subjugated  by  the 
Church;  sovereigns  could  scarcely  protect  themselves  from 
its  domination;  the  feudal  nobility  alone  would  never  submit 
to  its  yoke,  would  never  give  way  to  the  power  of  the  clergy. 
We  have  only  to  recall  to  our  recollection  the  general  ap- 
pearance of  the  middle  ages,  in  order  to  be  struck  with  the 
singula':  mixture  of  loftiness  and  submission,  of  blind  faith 
and  liberty  of  mind,  in  the  connexion  of  the  lay  nobility  with 
the  priests.  We  there  find  some  of  the  remnants  of  their 
primitive  situation.  It  may  be  remembered  how  I  endeav- 
ored to  describe  the  origin  of  the  feudal  system,  its  first 
elements,  and  the  manner  in  which  feudal  society  first 
formed  itself  around  the  habitation  of  the  possessor  of  the 
fief.  I  remarked  how  much  the  priest  was  there  below  the 
lord  of  the  fief.  Yes,  and  there  always  remained,  in  the 
hearts  of  the  feudal  nobility,  a  feeling  of  this  situation;  they 
always  considered  themselves  as  not  only  independent  of  the 
Church,  but  as  its  superior— as  alone  called  upon  to  possess, 
and  in  reaUty  to  govern,  the  country;  they  were  willing 
always  to  live  on  good  terms  with  the  clergy,  but  at  the  same 
time  insisting  that  each  should  perform  his  own  part,  the 
one  not  infringing  upon  the  duties  of  the  other.  During 
many  centuries  it  was  the  lay  aristocracy  who  maintained  the 
independence  of  society  with  regard  to  the  Church;  they 
boldly  defended  it  when  the  sovereigns  and  the  people  were 
subdued.  They  were  the  first  to  oppose,  and  probably  con- 
tributed more  than  any  other  power  to  the  failure  of  the 
attempt  at  theocratic  organization  of  society 

A  third  obstacle  stood  much  in  the  way  of  this  attempt, 
an  obstacle  which  has  been  but  little  noticed,  and  the  effect 
of  which  has  often  been  misunderstood. 


i88  GENERAL    HISTORY    OF 

In  all  parts  of  the  world  where  a  clergy  made  itself  mas- 
ter of  society,  and  forced  it  to  submit  to  a  theocratic  organi- 
zation, the  government  always  fell  into  the  hands  of  a  married 
clergy,  of  a  body  of  priests  who  were  enabled  to  recruit  their 
ranks  from  their  own  society.  Examine  history;  look  to 
Asia  and  Egypt;  every  powerful  theocracy  you  will  find  to 
have  been  the  work  of  a  priesthood,  of  a  society  complete 
within  itself,  and  which  had  no  occasion  to  borrow  of  any 
other. 

But  the  celibacy  of  the  clergy  placed  the  Christian  priest- 
hood in  a  very  different  situation;  it  was  obliged  to  have 
recourse  incessantly  to  lay  society  in  order  to  continue  its 
existence;  it  was  compelled  to  seek  at  a  distance,  among  all 
stations,  all  social  professions,  for  the  means  of  its  duration. 
In  vain,  attachment  to  their  order  induced  them  to  labor 
assiduously  for  the  purpose  of  assimilating  these  discordant 
elements;  some  of  the  original  qualities  of  these  new-comers 
ever  remain;  citizens  or  gentlemen,  they  always  retained 
some  vestige  of  their  former  disposition,  of  the!r  early  habits. 
Doubtless  the  Catholic  clergy,  by  being  placed  in  a  lonely 
situation  by  celibacy,  by  being  cut  otf,  as  it  were,  from  the 
common  life  of  men,  became  more  isolated,  and  separate 
from  society;  but  then  it  was  forced  continually  to  have  re- 
course to  this  same  lay  society,  to  recruit,  to  renew  itself 
from  it,  and  consequently  to  participate  in  the  moral  revolu- 
tions which  it  underwent;  and  I  have  no  hesitation  in  stating 
it  as  my  opinion,  that  this  necessity,  which  was  always  aris- 
ing, did  much  more  to  prevent  the  success  of  the  attempt  at 
theocratic  organization,  than  the  esprit  de  corps,  strongly 
supported  as  it  was  by  celibacy,  did  to  forward  it. 

The  clergy,  indeed,  found  within  its  own  body  the  most 
powerful  opponents  of  this  attempt.  Much  has  been  said  of 
the  unity  of  the  Church,  and  it  is  true  that  it  has  constantly 
endeavored  to  obtain  this  unity,  and  in  some  particulars  has 
had  the  good  fortune  to  succeed.  But  we  must  not  suffer 
ourselves  to  be  imposed  upon  by  high-sounding  words,  nor 
by  partial  facts.  What  society  has  offered  to  our  view  a 
greater  number  of  civil  dissensions,  has  been  subject  to  more 
dismemberments  than  the  clergy.  What  society  has  suffered 
more  from  divisions,  from  agitations,  from  disputes  than  the 
ecclesiastical  nation?  The  national  churches  of  the  majority 
of  European  states  have  been  incessantly  at  variance  with 
the  Roman  court;  the  councils  have  been  at  war  with  the 
popes:  heresies  have  been  innumerable  and  ever  springing  up 
anew;  schism  always  breaking  out;  nowhcie  was   ever  wit- 


CIVILIZATION    IN    MODERN    EUROPE.  189 

nessed  such  a  diversity  of  opinions,  so  much  rancor  in  dis- 
pute, such  minute  parceUing  out  of  power.  The  internal 
state  of  the  Church,  the  disputations  which  have  taken  place, 
the  revolutions  by  which  it  has  been  agitated,  have  been 
perhaps  the  greatest  of  all  obstacles  to  the  triumph  of  that 
theocratical  organization  which  the  Church  endeavored  to 
impose  upon  society. 

All  these  obstacles  were  visibly  in  action  even  so  early  as 
the  fifth  century,  even  at  the  commencement  of  the  great 
attempt  of  which  we  are  now  speaking.  They  did  not,  how- 
ever, prevent  the  continuance  of  its  exertions,  nor  retard  its 
progress  during  several  centuries.  The  period  of  its  greatest 
glory,  its  crisis,  as  it  may  be  termed,  was  the  reign  of 
Gregory  the  Seventh,  at  the  end  of  the  eleventh  century. 
We  have  already  seen  that  the  predominant  wish  of  Gregory 
was  to  render  the  world  subservient  to  the  clergy,  the  clergy 
to  the  pope,  and  to  form  Europe  into  one  immense  and 
regular  theocracy.  In  the  scheme  by  which  this  was  to  be 
effected,  this  great  man  appears,  so  far  as  one  can  judge  of 
events  which  took  place  so  long  ago,  to  have  committed  two 
great  faults — one  as  a  theorist,  the  other  as  a  revolutionist. 
The  first  consisted  in  the  pompous  proclamation  of  his  plan; 
in  his  giving  a  systematical  detail  of  his  principles  relative 
to  the  nature  and  the  rights  of  spiritual  power,  of  drawing 
from  them  beforehand,  like  a  severe  logician,  their  remotest, 
their  ultimate  consequences.  He  thus  threatened  and  even 
attacked  all  the  lay  sovereigns  of  Europe,  without  having 
secured  the  means  of  success:  not  considering  that  success 
in  human  affairs  is  not  to  be  obtained  by  such  absolute  pro- 
ceedings, or  by  a  mere"  appeal  to  a  philosophic  argument. 
Gregory  the  Seventh  also  fell  into  the  common  error  of  all 
revolutionists — that  of  attempting  more  than  they  can  per- 
form, and  of  not  fixing  the  measure  and  limits  of  their  enter- 
prises within  the  bounds  of  possibility.  In  order  to  hasten 
the  predominance  of  his  opinions,  he  entered  into  a  contest 
against  the  empire,  against  all  sovereigns,  even  against  the 
great  body  of  the  clergy  itself.  He  never  temporized — he 
consulted  no  particular  interests,  but  openly  proclaimed  his 
detcrminaion  to  reign  over  all  kingdoms  as  well  as  over  all 
intellects;  and  thus  raised  up  against  him,  not  only  all  tem- 
poral powers,  who  discovered  the  pressing  danger  of  their 
situation,  but  also  all  those  who  advocated  the  right  of  free 
inquiry,  a  party  which  now  began  to  show  itself,  and  dreaded 
and  exclaimed  against  all  tyranny  over  the  human  mind.     It 


190  GENERAL    HISTORY    OF 

seemed  indeed  probable,  on  the  whole,  that  Gregory  the 
Seventh  injured  rather  than  advanced  the  cause  which  he 
wished  to  serve. 

This  cause,  however,  still  continued  to  prosper  through- 
out the  whole  of  the  twelfth  and  down  to  the  middle  of  the 
thirteenth  century.  This  was  the  epoch  of  the  greatest 
power  and  splendor  of  the  Church.  I  do  not  think  it  can  be 
said  that  during  this  period  she  made  much  progress;  to  the 
end  of  the  reign  of  Innocent  III.  she  rather  displayed  her 
glory  and  power  than  increased  them.  But  at  this  very 
moment  of  her  apparently  greatest  success,  a  popular  re- 
action seemed  to  declare  war  against  her  in  almost  every 
part  of  Europe.  In  the  south  of  France  broke  out  the  heresy 
of  the  Albigenses,  which  carried  away  a  numerous  and 
powerful  society.  Almost  at  the  same  time  similar  notions 
and  desires  appeared  in  the  north,  in  Flanders.  Wickliffe, 
only  a  little  later,  attacked  in  England,  with  great  talent,  the 
power  of  the  Church,  and  founded  a  sect  which  was  not  des- 
tined to  perish.  Sovereigns  soon  began  to  follow  the  bent 
of  their  nations.  It  was  only  at  the  beginning  of  the  thir- 
teenth century,  that  the  emperors  of  the  house  of  Hohen- 
staufen,  who  deservedly  rank  among  the  most  able  and 
powerful  sovereigns  of  Europe,  were  overcome  in  their 
struggle  with  the  Holy  See;  yet  before  the  end  of  the  same 
century,  Saint  Louis,  the  most  pious  of  monarchs,  proclaimed 
the  independence  of  temporal  power,  and  published  the  first 
pragmatic  sanction,  which  has  served  as  the  basis  of  all  the 
following.  At  the  opening  of  the  fourteenth  century  began 
the  quarrel  between  Philip  the  Bel  with  Boniface  VIII. 
Edward  I.  of  England  was  not  more  obedient  to  the  court 
of  Rome.  At  this  epoch  it  is  evident  that  the  attempt  at 
theocratic  oganization  had  failed;  the  Church  henceforward 
acted  only  upon  the  defensive;  she  no  longer  attempted  to 
force  her  system  upon  Europe;  but  only  considered  how  she 
might  keep  what  she  possessed.  It  is  at  the  end  of  the  thir- 
teenth century  that  truly  dates  the  emancipation  of  the  laic 
society  of  Europe;  it  was  then  that  the  Church  gave  up  her 
pretensions  ft)  its  possession. 

For  a  long  time  before  this  she  had  renewed  this  preten- 
sion in  the  very  sphere  in  which  it  appeared  most  likely  for 
her  to  be  successful.  For  a  long  time  in  Italy  itself,  even 
around  the  very  throne  of  the  Church,  theocracy  had  com- 
pletely failed,  and  given  way  to  a  system  its  very  opposite  in 
character:   to  that  attempt  at   democratic  organization,  of 


CIVILIZATION    IN    MODERN    EUROPE.  I9I 

which  the  Italian  republics  are  the  type,  and  which  displayed 
so  brilliant  a  career  in  Europe  from  the  eleventh  to  the  six- 
teenth century. 

It  will  be  remembered,  that,  when  speaking  of  the  free 
cities,  of  their  history,  and  of  the  manner  of  their  formation, 
I  observed  that  their  growth  had  been  more  precocious  and 
vigorous  in  Italy  than  in  any  other  country;  they  were  here 
more  numerous,  as  well  as  more  wealthy,  than  in  Gaul, 
England,  or  Spain;  the  Roman  municipal  system  had  been 
preserved  with  more  life  and  regularity.  Besides  this,  the 
provinces  of  Italy  were  less  fitted  to  become  the  habitation 
of  its  new  masters  than  the  rest  of  Europe.  The  lands  had 
been  cleared,  drained,  and  cultivated;  it  was  not  covered 
with  forests,  and  the  barbarians  could  not  here  devote  their 
lives  to  the  chase,  or  find  occupations  similar  to  what  had 
amused  them  in  Germany.  A  part  of  this  country,  more- 
over, did  not  belong  to  them.  The  south  of  Italy,  the  Cam- 
pania, Romana,  Ravenna,  were  still  dependant  on  the  Greek 
emperors.  Favored  by  distance  from  the  seat  of  govern- 
ment, and  by  the  vicissitudes  of  war,  the  republican  system 
soon  took  root,  and  grew  very  fast  in  this  portion  of  the 
country.  Italy,  too,  besides  having  never  been  entirely  sub- 
dued by  the  barbarians,  was  favored  by  the  circumstance, 
that  the  conquerors  who  overran  it  did  not  remain  its  tran- 
quil and  lasting  possessors.  The  Ostrogoths  were  destroyed 
and  driven  off  by  Belisarius  and  Narses:  the  kingdom  of  the 
Lombards  was  not  permanent.  The  Franks  overthrew  it 
under  Pepin  and  Charlemagne,  who,  without  exterminating 
the  Lombard  population,  found  it  their  interest  to  ally  them- 
selves with  the  ancient  Italian  inhabitants,  in  order  to  con- 
tend against  the  Lombards  with  more  success.  The  bar- 
barians, then,  never  became  in  Italy,  as  in  the  other  parts  of 
Europe,  the  exclusive  and  quiet  masters  of  the  territory  and 
people.  And  thus  it  happened  that  the  feudal  system  never 
made  much  progress  beyond  the  Alps,  where  it  was  but 
weakly  established,  and  its  members  few  and  scattered. 
Neither  did  the  great  territorial  proprietors  ever  gain  that 
preponderance  here,  which  they  did  in  Gaul  and  other  coun- 
tries, but  it  continued  to  rest  with  the  towns.  When  this 
result  clearly  showed  itself,  a  great  number  of  the  possessors 
of  fiefs,  moved  by  choice  or  necessity,  left  their  country 
dwellings  and  took  up  their  abode  within  the  walls  of  some 
city.  The  barbarian  nobles  made  themselves  burgesses.  It 
is  easy  to  imagine  what  strength  and  superiority  the  towns 


192  GENERAL    HISTORY    OF 

of  Italy  acquired,  compared  with  the  other  communities  of 
Europe,  by  this  single  circumstance.  What  we  have  chiefly 
dwelt  upon,  as  most  observable  in  the  character  of  town 
populations,  is  their  timidity  and  weakness.  The  burgesses 
appear  like  so  many  courageous  freedmen,  struggling  with 
toil  and  care  against  a  master,  always  at  their  gates.  The 
fate  of  the  Italian  towns  was  widely  different;  the  conquer- 
ing and  conquered  populations  herfe  mixed  together  within 
the  same  walls;  the  towns  had  not  the  trouble  to  defend 
themselves  against  a  neighboring  master;  their  inhabitants 
were  citizens,  who,  at  least  for  the  most  part,  had  always 
been  free;  who  defended  their  independence  and  their  rights 
against  distant  foreign  sovereigns;  at  one  time  against  the 
kings  of  the  Franks,  and,  at  a  later  period,  against  the  em- 
perors of  Germany.  This  will  in  some  measure  account  for 
the  immense  and  precocious  superiority  of  the  Italian  cities: 
while  in  other  countries  we  see  poor  insignificant  communi- 
ties arise  after  great  trouble  and  exertion;  we  here  see  shoot 
up,  almost  at  once,  republics — states. 

Thus  becomes  explained,  why  the  attempt  at  republican 
organization  was  so  successful  in  this  part  of  Europe.  It 
repressed,  almost  in  its  childhood,  the  feudal  system,  and 
became  the  prevailing  form  in  society.  Still  it  was  but  little 
adapted  to  spread  or  endure;  it  contained  but  few  germs  of 
melioration,  a  necessary  condition  for  the  extension  and 
duration  of  any  form  of  government. 

In  looking  at  the  history  of  the  Italian  republics,  from 
the  eleventh  to  the  fifteenth  century,  we  are  struck  with  two 
facts,  seemingly  contradictory,  yet  still  indisputable.  We 
see  passing  before  us  a  wonderful  display  of  courage,  of 
activity,  and  of  genius;  an  amazing  prosperity  is  the  result: 
we  see  a  movement  and  a  liberty  unknown  to  the  rest  of 
Europe.  But  if  we  ask  what  was  the  real  state  of  the  in- 
habitants, how  they  passed  their  lives,  what  was  their  real 
share  of  happiness,  the  scene  changes;  there  is,  perhaps,  no 
history  so  sad,  so  gloomy:  no  period,  perhaps,  during  which 
the  lot  of  man  appears  to  have  been  so  agitated,  subject  to 
so  many  deplorable  chances,  and  which  so  abounds  in  dis- 
sensions, crimes,  and  misfortunes.  Another  fact  strikes  us 
at  the'same  moment;  in  the  political  life  of  the  greater  part 
of  these  republics,  liberty  was  always  growing  less  and  less. 
The  want  of  security  was  so  great,  that  the  people  were  un- 
avoidably driven  to  take  shelter  in  a  system  less  stormy,  less 
popular,  than  that  in  which  the  state  existed     l^ook  at  the 


CIVILIZATION    IN    MODERN    EUROPE.  I93 

history  of  Florence,  Venice,  Genoa,  Milan,  or  Pisa;  in  all  of 
them  we  find  the  course  of  events,  instead  of  aiding  the  pro- 
gress of  liberty,  instead  of  enlarging  the  circle  of  institutions, 
tending  to  repress  it;  tending  to  concentrate  power  in  the 
hands  of  a  smaller  number  of  individuals.  In  a  word,  we 
find  in  these  republics,  otherwise  so  energetic,  so  brilliant, 
and  so  rich,  two  things  wanting — security  of  life,  the  first 
requisite  in  the  social  state,  and  the  progress  of  institutions. 

From  these  causes  sprung  a  new  evil,  which  prevented 
the  attempt  at  republican  organization  from  extending  it- 
self. It  was  from  without — it  was  from  foreign  sovereigns, 
that  the  greatest  danger  was  threatened  to  Italy,  Still  this 
danger  never  succeeded  in  reconciling  these  republics,  in 
making  them  all  act  in  concert;  they  were  never  ready  to 
resist  in  common  the  common  enemy,  J'his  has  led  many 
Italians,  the  most  enlightened,  the  best  of  patriots,  to 
deplore,  in  the  present  day,  the  republican  system  of  Italy 
in  the  middle  ages,  as  the  true  cause  which  hindered  it  from 
becoming  a  nation;  it  was  parcelled  out,  they  say,  into  a 
multitude  of  little  states,  not  sufficiently  master  of  their  pas- 
sions to  confederate,  to  constitute  themselves  into  one  united 
body  They  regret  that  their  country  has  not,  like,  the  rest 
of  Europe,  been  subject  to  a  despotic  centralization  which 
would  have  formed  it  into  a  nation,  and  rendered  it  indepen- 
dent of  the  foreigner. 

It  appears,  then,  that  republican  organization,  even  under 
the  most  favorable  circumstances,  did  not  contain,  at  this 
period,  any  more  than  it  has  done  since,  the  principle  of 
progress,  duration,  and  extension.  We  may  compare,  up  to 
a  certain  point,  the  organization  of  Italy,  in  the  middle  ages, 
to  that  of  ancient  Greece,  Greece,  like  Italy,  was  a  country 
covered  with  little  republics,  always  rivals,  sometimes  ene- 
mies, and  sometimes  rallying  together  for  a  common  object. 
In  this  comparison  the  advantage  is  altogether  on  the  side 
of  Greece.  There  is  no  doubt,  notwithstanding  the  frequent 
iniquities  that  history  makes  known,  but  that  there  was  much 
more  order,  security,  and  justice  in  the  interior  of  Athens, 
Lacedemon,  and  Thebes,  than  in  the  Italian  republics.  See, 
however,  notwithstanding  this,  how  short  was  the  political 
career  of  Greece,  and  what  a  principle  of  weakness  is  con- 
tained in  this  parcelling  out  of  territory  and  power.  No 
sooner  did  Greece  come  in  contact  with  the  great  neighbor- 
ing states,  with  Macedon  and  Rome,  than  she  fell.     These 


194  GENERAL    HISTORY    OF 

little  republics,  so  glorious  and  still  so  flourishing,  could  not 
coalesce  to  resist.  How  much  more  likely  was  this  to  be  the 
case  in  Italy,  where  society  and  human  reason  had  made  no 
such  strides  as  in  Greece,  and  consequently  possessed  much 
less  power. 

If  the  attempt  at  republican  organization  had  so  little 
chance  of  stability  in  Italy,  where  it  had  triumphed,  where 
the  feudal  system  had  been  overcome,  it  may  easily  be  sup- 
posed that  it  was  much  less  likely  to  succeed  in  the  other 
parts  of  Europe. 

I  shall  take  a  rapid  survey  of  its  fortunes. 

There  was  one  portion  of  Europe  which  bore  a  great 
resemblance  to  Italy;  the  south  of  France,  and  the  adjoining 
provinces  of  Spain,  Catalonia,  Navarre,  and  Biscay.  In 
these  districts  the  cities  had  made  nearly  the  same  progress, 
and  had  risen  to  considerable  importance  and  wealth.  Many 
little  feudal  nobles  had  here  allied  themselves  with  the  citi- 
zens; a  part  of  the  clergy  had  likewise  embraced  their  cause; 
in  a  word,  the  country  in  these  respects  was  another  Italy. 
So  also,  in  the  course  of  the  eleventh  and  beginning  of  the 
twelfth  century,  the  towns  of  Provence,  of  Languedoc,  and 
Acquitaine,  made  a  political  effort  and  formed  themselves 
into  free  republics,  as  had  been  done  by  the  towns  on  the 
other  side  of  the  Alps.  But  the  south  of  France  was  con- 
nected with  a  very  powerful  branch  of  the  feudal  system, 
that  of  the  north.  The  heresy  of  the  Albigenses  appeared. 
A  war  broke  out  between  feudal  France  and  municipal 
France.  The  history  of  the  crusade  against  the  Albigenses, 
commanded  by  Simon  de  Montfort,  is  well  known:  it  was 
the  struggle  of  the  feudalism  of  the  north  against  the  attempt 
at  democratic  organization  of  the  south.  Notwithstanding 
the  efforts  of  southern  patriotism,  the  north  gained  the  day; 
political  unity  was  wanting  in  the  south,  but  civilization  was 
not  yet  sufficiently  advanced  there  to  enable  men  to  bring  it 
about.  This  attempt  at  republican  organization  was  put 
down,  and  the  crusade  re-established  the  feudal  system  in 
the  south  of  France. 

A  republican  attempt  succeeded  better  a  little  later,  among 
the  Swiss  mountains.  Here,  the  theatre  was  very  narrow, 
the  struggle  was  only  against  a  foreign  monarch,  who,  al- 
though much  more  powerful  than  the  Swiss,  was  not  one  of 
the  most  formidable  sovereigns  of  Europe.  The  contest  was 
carried  on  with  a  great  display  of  courage.    The  Swiss  feudal 


CIVILIZATION    IN    MODERN    EUROPE.  I95 

nobility  allied  themselves,  for  the  most  part,  with  the  cities: 
a  powerful  help,  which  also  raised  the  character  of  the  revo- 
lution it  sustained,  and  stamped  it  with  more  aristocratical 
and  stationary  character  than  it  seemingly  ought  to  have 
borne. 

I  cross  to  the  north  of  France,  to  the  free  towns  of  Flan- 
ders, to  those  on  the  banks  of  the  Rhine,  and  belonging  to 
the  Hanseatic  league.  Here  the  democratic  organization 
completely  triumphed  in  the  internal  government  of  the 
cities;  but  from  its  origin,  it  is  evident,  that  it  was  not  des- 
tined to  take  entire  possession  of  society.  The  free  towns 
of  the  north  were  surrounded,  pressed  on  every  side  by 
feudalism,  by  barons,  and  sovereigns,  to  such  an  extent  that 
they  were  constantly  obliged  to  stand  upon  the  defensive. 
It  is  scarcely  necessary  to  say,  that  they  did  not  trouble 
themselves  to  make  conquests;  they  defended  themselves 
sometimes  well  and  sometimes  badly.  They  preserved  their 
privileges,  but  they  remained  confined  to  the  inside  of  their 
walls.  Within  these,  democratic  organization  was  shut  up 
and  arrested;  if  we  walk  abroad  over  the  face  of  the  coun- 
try, we  find  no  semblance  of  it. 

Such,  then,  was  the  state  of  the  republican  attempt:  tri- 
umphant in  Italy,  but  with  little  hope  of  duration  and  pro- 
gress; vanquished  in  the  south  of  Gaul;  victorious  upon  a 
small  scale  in  the  mountains  of  Switzerland;  while  in  the 
north,  in  the  free  communities  of  Flanders,  the  Rhine,  and 
Hanseatic  league,  it  was  condemned  not  to  appear  outside 
their  walls.  Still,  even  in  this  state,  evidently  inferior  to 
the  other  elements  of  society,  it  inspired  the  feudal  nobility 
with  prodigious  terror.  The  barons  became  jealous  of  the 
wealth  of  the  cities,  they  feared  their  power;  the  spirit  of 
democracy  stole  into  the  country;  insurrections  of  the  peas- 
antry became  more  frequent  and  obstinate.  In  nearly  every 
part  of  Europe  a  coalition  was  formed  among  the  nobles 
against  the  free  cities.  The  parties  were  not  equal;  the 
cities  were  isolated;  there  was  no  correspondence  or  intelli- 
gence between  them;  all  was  local.  It  may  be  true  that 
there  existed,  between  the  burgesses  of  different  countries, 
a  certain  degree  of  sympathy;  the  success  or  reverses  of  the 
towns  of  Flanders,  in  their  struggles  with  the  dukes  of  Bur- 
gandy,  excited  a  lively  sensation  in  the  French  cities:  but 
this  was  very  fleeting,  and  led  to  no  result;  no  tie,  no  true 
union  became  established  between  them;  the  free  cammuni- 


196  GENERAL    HISTORY    OF 

ties  lent  no  assistance  to  one  another.  The  position  of  feu- 
dalism was  much  superior;  yet  divided,  and  without  any  plan 
of  its  own,  it  was  never  able  to  destroy  them.  After  the 
struggle  had  lasted  a  considerable  time,  when  the  conviction 
became  settled  that  a  complete  victory  was  impossible,  con- 
cession became  necessary;  these  petty  burgher  republics 
were  acknowledged,  negotiated  with,  and  admitted  as  mem- 
bers of  the  state.  A  new  plan  was  now  begun,  a  new  at- 
tempt was  made  at  political  organization.  The  object  of 
this  was  to  conciliate,  to  reconcile,  to  make  to  live  and  act 
together,  in  spite  of  their  rooted  hostility,  the  various  ele- 
ments of  society;  that  is  to  say,  the  feudal  nobility,  the  free 
cities,  the  clergy,  and  monarchs.  It  is  to  this  attempt  at 
mixed  organization  that  I  have  still  to  claim  your  attention. 

I  presume  there  is  no  one  who  is  not  acquainted  with  the 
nature  of  the  States-general  of  France,  the  Cortes  of  Spain 
and  Portugal,  the  Parliament  of  England,  and  the  States  of 
Germany.  The  elements  of  these  various  assemblies  were 
much  the  same;  that  is  to  say,  the  feudal  nobility,  the  clergy, 
and  the  cities  or  commons,  there  met  together  and  labored 
to  unite  themselves  into  one  sole  society,  into  one  same 
state,  under  one  same  law,  one  same  authority.  Whatever 
their  various  names,  this  was  the  tendency,  the  design  of  all. 

Let  us  take,  as  the  type  of  this  attempt,  the  fact  which 
most  interests  us,  as  well  as  being  best  known  to  us — the 
States-general  of  France.  I  say  this  fact  is  best  known, 
while  I  am  still  sure  that  the  term  States-general  awakens 
in  none  of  you  more  than  a  vague  and  incomplete  idea.  Who 
can  say  what  there  was  in  it  of  stability,  of  regularity;  the 
number  of  its  members,  the  subjects  of  their  deliberations, 
the  times  at  which  they  were  convoked,  or  the  length  of  their 
sessions?  Of  all  this  we  know  nothing,  and  it  is  impossible 
to  obtain  from  history  any  clear,  general,  satisfactory  infor- 
mation respecting  it.  The  best  accounts  we  can  gather  from 
the  history  of  France,  as  regards  the  character  of  these  as- 
semblies, would  almost  lead  us  to  consider  them  as  pure 
accidents,  as  the  last  political  resort  both  of  people  and  kings; 
the  last  resort  of  the  kings,  when  they  had  no  money  and 
knew  not  how  to  free  themselves  from  embarrassment;  the 
last  resort  of  the  people,  when  some  evil  became  so  great  that 
they  knew  not  what  remedy  to  apply  to  it.  The  nobles 
formed  part  of  the  States-general;  so  did  the  clergy;  but 
they  came  to  them  with  little  interest,  for  they  knew  well 
that  it  was  not  in  these  assemblies  that  they  possessed  the 


CiViLIZATION    IN    MODERN    EUROPE.  197 

greatest  influence,  that  it  was  not  there  that  they  took  a  true 
part  in  the  government.  The  burgesses  themselves  were 
not  eager  to  attend  them;  it  was  not  a  right  which  they  were 
anxious  to  exercise,  but  rather  a  necessity  to  which  they 
submitted.  Again,  what  was  the  character  of  the  poHtical 
proceedings  of  these  assemblies?  At  one  time  we  find  them 
perfectly  insignificant,  at  others  terrible.  If  the  king  was 
the  stronger,  their  humility  and  docility  were  extreme;  if  the 
situation  of  the  monarch  was  unfortunate,  if  he  really  needed 
the  assistance  of  the  States,  they  then  became  factious,  either 
the  instrument  of  some  aristocratic  intrigue,  or  of  some  am- 
bitious demagogues.  Their  works  died  almost  always  with 
them;  they  promised  much,  they  attempted  much — and  did 
nothing.  No  great  measure  which  has  truly  had  any  influ- 
ence upon  society  in  France,  no  important  reform  either  in 
the  general  legislation  or  administration,  ever  emanated  from 
the  States-general.  It  must  not,  however,  be  supposed  that 
they  have  been  altogether  useless,  or  without  effect;  they 
had  a  moral  effect,  of  which  in  general  we  take  too  little 
account;  they  served  from  time  to  time  as  a  protestation 
against  political  servitude,  a  forcible  proclamation  of  certain 
guardian  principles — such,  for  example,  as  that  a  nation  has 
the  right  to  vote  its  own  taxes,  to  take  part  in  its  own  affairs, 
to  impose  a  responsibility  upon  the  agents  of  power.  That 
these  maxims  have  never  perished  in  France,  is  mainly  owing 
to  the  States-general;  and  it  is  no  slight  service  rendered  to 
a  country,  to  maintain  among  its  virtues,  to  keep  alive  in  its 
thoughts,  the  remembrance  and  claims  of  liberty.  The 
States-general  has  done  us  this  service,  but  it  never  became 
a  means  of  government;  it  never  entered  upon  political  or- 
ganization; it  never  attained  the  object  for  which  it  was 
formed,  that  is  to  say,  the  fusion  into  one  only  body  of  the 
various  societies  which  divided  the  country. 

The  Cortes  of  Portugal  and  Spain  offered  the  same  gen- 
eral result,  though  in  a  thousand  circumstances  they  differ. 
The  importance  of  the  Cortes  varied  according  to  the  king- 
doms, and  times  at  which  they  were  held;  they  were  most 
powerful  and  most  frequently  convoked  in  Aragon  and  Bis- 
cay, during  the  disputes  for  the  successions  to  the  crown, 
and  the  struggles  against  the  Moors.  To  some  of  the  Cortes 
— for  example,  that  of  Castile,  1370  and  1373— neither  the 
nobles  nor  the  clergy  were  called.  There  were  a  thousand 
accidents  which  it  would  be  necessary  to  notice,  if  we  had 
time  to  look  closely  into  events;  but  in  the  general  sketch  to 


198  GENERAL    HISTORY    OF 

which  I  am  obliged  to  confine  myself  it  will  be  enough  to 
state  that  the  Cortes,  like  the  States-general  of  France,  have 
been  an  accident  in  history,  and  never  a  system — never  a 
political  organization,  or  regular  means  of  government. 

The  lot  of  England  has  been  different.  I  shall  not,  how- 
ever, enter  into  any  detail  upon  this  subject  at  present,  as  it 
is  my  intention  to  devote  a  future  lecture  to  the  special  con- 
sideration of  the  political  life  of  England.  All  I  shall  now 
do  is  to  say  a  few  words  upon  the  causes  which  gave  it  a 
direction  totally  different  from  that  of  the  continental  states. 

And,  first,  there  were  no  great  vassals,  no  subjects  suffi- 
ciently powerful  to  enter  single-handed  into  a  contest  with 
the  crown.  The  great  barons  were  obliged,  at  a  very  early 
period,  to  coalesce,  in  order  to  make  a  common  resistance. 
Thus  the  principle  of  association,  and  proceedings  truly  poli- 
tical, were  forced  upon  the  high  aristocracy.  Besides  this, 
English  feudalism— the  little  holders  of  fiefs — were  brought 
by  a  train  of  circumstances,  which  I  cannot  here  recount,  to 
unite  themselves  with  the  burgher  class,  to  sit  with  them  in 
the  House  of  Commons;  and  by  this,  the  Commons  obtained 
in  England  a  power  much  superior  to  those  on  the  Conti- 
nent, a  power  really  capable  of  influencing  the  government 
of  the  country.  In  the  fourteenth  century  the  character  of 
the  English  Parliament  was  already  formed:  the  House  of 
Lords  was  the  great  council  of  the  king,  a  council  effectively 
associated  in  the  exercise  of  authority.  The  House  of  Com- 
mons, composed  of  deputies  from  the  little  possessors  of 
fiefs,  and  from  the  cities,  took,  as  yet,  scarcely  any  part  in 
the  government,  properly  so  called;  but  it  asserted  and  es- 
tablished rights,  it  defended  with  great  spirit  private  and 
local  interests.  Parliament,  considered  as  a  whole,  did  not 
yet  govern;  but  already  it  was  a  regular  institution,  a  means 
of  government  adopted  in  principle,  and  often  indispensable 
in  fact.  Thus  the  attempt  to  bring  together  the  various 
elements  of  society,  and  to  form  them  into  one  body  politic, 
one  true  state  or  commonwealth,  did  succeed  in  England 
while  it  failed  in  every  part  of  the  Continent. 

I  shall  not  offer  more  than  one  remark  upon  Germany, 
and  that  only  to  indicate  the  prevailing  character  of  its  his- 
tory. The  attempts  made  here  at  political  organization,  to 
melt  into  one  body  the  various  elements  of  society,  were 
spiritless  and  coldly  followed  up.  These  social  elements  had 
remained  here  more  distinct,  more  independent  than  in  the 


CIVILIZATION    IN    MODERN    EUROPE.  190 

rest  of  Europe.  Were  any  proof  of  this  wanting,  it  might 
be  found  in  its  later  usages.  Germany  is  the  only  country 
of  Europe  (I  say  nothing  of  Poland  and  the  Sclavonian  na- 
tions, which  entered  so  very  late  into  the  European  system 
of  civilization)  in  which  feudal  election  has  for  a  long  time 
taken  part  in  the  election  of  royalty;  it  is  likewise  the  only 
country  of  Europe  in  which  ecclesiastical  sovereigns  were 
continued;  the  only  one  in  which  were  preserved  free  cities 
with  a  true  political  existence  and  sovereignty.  It  is  clear, 
therefore,  that  the  attempt  to  fuse  the  elements  of  primitive 
European  society  into  one  social  body,  must  have  been  much 
less  active  and  effective  in  Germany  than  in  any  other 
nation.  i 

I  have  now  run  over  all  the  great  attempts  at  political 
organization  which  were  made  in  Europe,  down  to  the  end 
of  the  fourteenth  or  beginning  of  the  fifteenth  century.  All 
these  failed.  I  have  endeavored  to  point  out,  in  going 
along,  the  causes  of  these  failures;  to  speak  truly,  they  must 
all  be  summed  up  in  one:  society  was  not  yet  sufficiently 
advanced  to  adapt  itself  to  unity;  all  was  yet  too  local,  too 
special,  too  narrow;  too  many  differences  prevailed  both  in 
things  and  in  minds.  There  were  no  general  interests,  no 
general  opinions  capable  of  guiding,  of  bearing  sway  over 
particular  interests  and  particular  opinions.  The  most  en- 
lightened minds,  the  boldest  thinkers,  had  as  yet  no  just  idea 
of  administration  or  justice  truly  public.  It  was  evidently 
necessary  that  a  very  active,  powerful  civilization  should 
first  mix,  assimilate,  grind  together,  as  it  were,  all  these  in- 
coherent elements;  it  was  necessary  that  there  should  first 
be  a  strong  centralization  of  interests,  laws,  manners,  ideas; 
it  was  necessary,  in  a  word,  that  there  should  be  created  a 
public  authority  and  a  public  opinion.  We  are  now  drawing 
near  to  the  period  in  which  this  great  work  was  at  last  con- 
summated. Its  first  symptoms— the  state  of  manners,  mind, 
and  opinions,  during  the  fifteenth  century,  their  tendency 
toward  the  formation  of  a  central  government  and  a  public 
opinion — will  be  the  subject  of  the  following  lecture. 


LECTURE    XI. 

CENTRALIZATION    OF    NATIONS    AND    GOVERNMENTS. 

We  have  now  reached  the  threshold  of  modern  history, 
in  the  proper  sense  of  the  term.  We  now  approach  that 
state  of  society  which  may  be  considered  as  our  own,  and 
the  institutions,  the  opinions,  and  the  manners  which  were 
those  of  France  forty  years  ago,  are  those  of  Europe  still, 
and,  notwithstanding  the  changes  produced  by  our  revolu- 
tion, continue  to  exercise  a  powerful  influence  upon  us.  It 
is  in  the  sixteenth  century,  as  I  have  already  told  you,  that 
modern  society  really  commences. 

Before  entering  into  a  consideration  of  this  period,  let  us 
review  the  ground  over  which  we  have  already  passed.  We 
have  discovered  among  the  ruins  of  the  Roman  empire,  all 
the  essential  elements  of  modern  Europe;  we  have  seen  them 
separate  themselves  and  expand,  each  on  its  own  account, 
and  independently  of  the  others.  We  have  observed,  during 
the  first  historical  period,  the  constant  tendency  of  these 
elements  to  separation,  and  to  a  local  and  special  existence. 
But  scarcely  has  this  object  appeared  to  be  attained;  scarcely 
have  feudalism,  municipal  communities,  and  the  clergy,  each 
taken  their  distinct  place  and  form,  when  we  have  seen  them 
tend  to  approximate,  unite,  and  form  themselves  into  a  gen- 
eral social  system,  into  a  national  body,  a  national  government. 
To  arrive  at  this  result,  the  various  countries  of  Europe  had 
recourse  to  all  the  different  systems  which  existed  among 
them:  they  endeavored  to  lay  the  foundations  of  social  union, 
and  of  political  and  moral  obligations,'  on  the  principles  of 
theocracy,  of  aristocracy,  of  democracy,  and  of  monarchy. 
Hitherto  all  these  attempts  have  failed.  No  particular  sys- 
tem has  been  able  to  take  possession  of  society,  and  to  secure 
it,  by  its  sway,  a  destiny  truly  public.  We  have  traced  the 
cause  of  this  failure  to  the  absence  of  general  interests  and 
general  ideas:  we  have  found  that  everything,  as  yet,  was 
too  special,  too  individual,  too  local;  that  a  long  and  power- 
ful process  of  centralization  was  necessary,  in  order  that 
society  might  become  at  once  extensive,  solid,  and  regular, 
the  object  which  it  necessarily  seeks  to  attain.     Such  was 


CIVILIZATION    IX    MODERN    EUROPE.  201 

the  State  in  which  we  left  Europe  at  the  close  of  the  four- 
teenth century. 

Europe,  however,  was  then  very  far  from  understanding 
her  own  state,  such  as  I  have  now  endeavored  to  explain  it 
to  you.  She  did  not  know  distinctly  what  she  required,  or 
what  she  was  in  search  of.  Yet  she  set  about  endeavoring 
to  supply  her  wants  as  if  she  knew  perfectly  what  they  were. 
When  the  fourteenth  century  had  expired,  after  the  failure 
of  every  attempt  at  political  organization,  Europe  entered 
naturally,  and  as  if  by  instinct,  into  the  path  of  centralization. 
It  is  the  characteristic  of  the  fifth  century  that  it  constantly 
tended  to  this  result,  that  it  endeavored  to  create  general  in- 
terests and  general  ideas,  to  raise  the  minds  of  men  to  more 
enlarged  views,  and  to  create,  in  short,  what  had  not,  till 
then,  existed  on  a  great  scale — nations  and  governments. 

The  actual  accomplishment  of  this  change  belongs  to  the 
sixteenth  and  seventeenth  centuries,  though  it  was  in  the 
fifteenth  that  it  was  prepared.  It  is  this  preparation,  this 
silent  and  hidden  process  of  centralization,  both  in  the  social 
relations  and  in  the  opinions  of  men — a  process  accom- 
plished, without  premeditation  or  design,  by  the  natural 
course  of  events — that  we  have  now  to  make  the  subject  of 
our  inquiry. 

It  is  thus  that  man  advances  in  the  execution  of  a  plan 
which  he  has  not  conceived,  and  of  which  he  is  not  even 
aware.  He  is  the  free  and  intelligent  artificer  of  a  work 
which  is  not  his  own.  He  does  not  perceive  or  comprehend 
it,  till  it  manifests  itself  by  external  appearances  and  real 
results;  and  even  then  he  comprehends  it  very  incompletely. 
It  is  through  his  means,  however,  and  by  the  development 
of  his  intelligence  and  freedom,  that  it  is  accomplished. 
Conceive  a  great  machine,  the  design  of  which  is  centred  in 
a  single  mind,  though  its  various  parts  are  instructed  to  dif- 
ferent workmen,  separated  from,  and  strangers  to  each  other. 
No  one  of  them  understands  the  w^ork  as  a  whole,  nor  the 
general  result  which  he  concurs  in  producing;  but  every  one 
executes,  with  intelligence  and  freedom,  by  rational  and 
voluntary  acts,  the  particular  task  assigned  to  him.  It  is 
thus,  that  by  the  hand  of  man,  the  designs  of  Providence 
are  wrought  out  in  the  government  of  the  world.  It  is  thus 
that  the  two  great  facts  which  are  apparent  in  the  history  of 
civilization  come  to  co-exist;  on  the  one  hand,  those  portions 
of  it  which   may  be   considered   as   fated,  or  which   happen 


202  GENERAL    HISTORY    OF 

without  the  control  of  human  knowledge  or  will;  on  the 
other  hand,  the  part  played  in  it  by  the  freedom  and  intelli- 
gence of  man,  and  what  he  contributes  to  it  by  means  of  his 
own  judgment  and  will. 

In  order  that  we  may  clearly  understand  the  fifteenth 
century;  in  order  that  we  may  give  a  distinct  account  of  this 
prelude,  if  we  may  use  the  expression,  to  the  state  of  society 
in  modern  times,  we  will  separate  the  facts  which  bear  upon 
the  subject  into  different  classes.  We  will  first  examine  the 
political  facts — the  changes  which  have  tended  to  the  forma- 
tion either  of  nations  or  of  governments.  From  thence  we 
will  proceed  to  the  moral  facts:  we  will  consider  the  changes 
which  took  place  in  ideas  and  in  manners;  and  we  shall  then 
see  what  general  opinions  began,  from  that  period,  to  be  in  a 
state  of  preparation. 

In  regard  to  political  facts,  in  order  to  proceed  with 
quickness  and  simplicity,  I  shall  survey  all  the  great  coun- 
tries of  Europe,  and  place  before  you  the  influence  which 
the  fifteenth  century  had  upon  them — how  it  found  them, 
how  it  left  them. 

I  shall  begin  with  France.  The  last  half  of  the  four- 
teenth, and  the  first  half  of  the  fifteenth  century,  were,  as 
you  all  know,  a  time  of  great  national  wars  against  the  Eng- 
lish. This  was  the  period  of  the  struggle  for  the  indepen- 
dence of  the  French  territory  and  the  French  name  against 
foreign  domination.  It  is  sufficient  to  open  the  book  of  his- 
tory, to  see  with  what  ardor,  notwithstanding  a  multitude  of 
treasons  and  dissensions,  all  classes  of  society  in  France 
joined  in  this  struggle,  and  what  patriotism  animated  the 
feudal  nobility,  the  burghers,  and  even  the  peasantry.  If 
we  had  nothing  but  the  story  of  Joan  of  Arc  to  show  the 
popular  spirit  of  the  time,  it  alone  would  suffice  for  that  pur- 
pose. Joan  of  Arc  sprang  from  among  the  people;  it  was 
by  the  sentiments,  the  religious  belief,  the  passions  of  the 
people,  that  she  was  inspired  and  supported.  She  was  looked 
upon  with  mistrust^  with  ridicule,  with  enmity  even,  by  the 
nobles  of  the  court  and  the  leaders  of  the  army;  but  she  had 
always  the  soldiers  and  the  people  on  her  side.  It  was  the 
peasants  of  Lorraine  who  sent  her  to  succor  the  citizens  of 
Orleans.  No  event  could  show  in  a  stronger  light  the  popu- 
lar character  of  that  war,  and  the  feeling  with  which  the 
whole  country  engaged  in  it. 


CIVILIZATION    IN  ivIODERN    EUROPE.  203 

Thus  the  nationahty  of  France  began  to  be  formed. 
Down  to  the  reign  of  the  house  of  Valois,  the  feudal  charac- 
ter prevailed  in  France;  a  French  nation,  a  French  spirit, 
French  patriotism,  as  yet  had  no  existence.  With  the  princes 
of  the  house  of  Valois  begins  the  history  of  France,  properly 
so  called.  It  was  in  the  course  of  their  wars,  amid  the  various 
turns  of  their  fortune,  that,  for  the  first  time,  the  nobility, 
the  citizens,  the  peasants,  were  united  by  a  moral  tie,  by  the 
tie  of  a  common  name,  a  common  honor,  and  by  one  burning 
desire  to  overcome  the  foreign  invader.  We  must  not,  how- 
ever, at  this  time,  expect  to  find  among  them  any  real  politi- 
cal spirit,  any  great  design  of  unity  in  government  and  insti- 
tutions, according  to  the  conceptions  of  the  present  day. 
The  unity  of  France,  at  that  period,  dwelt  in  her  name,  in 
her  national  honor,  in  the  existence  of  a  national  monarchy, 
no  matter  of  what  character,  provided  that  no  foreigner  had 
anything  to  do  with  it.  It  was  in  this  way  that  the  struggle 
against  the  English  contributed  strongly  to  form  the  French 
nation,  and  to  impel  it  toward  unity.  ^ 

At  the  same  time  that  France  was  thus  forming  herself 
in  a  moral  point  of  view,  she  was  also  extending  herself 
physically,  as  it  may  be  called,  by  enlarging,  fixing,  and  con- 
solidating her  territory.  This  was  the  period  of  the  incor- 
poration of  most  of  the  provinces  which  now  constitute 
France.  Under  Charles  VII.  [1422-1461]  after  the  expulsion 
of  the  English,  almost  all  the  provinces  which  they  had  oc- 
cupied— Normandy,  Angoumois,  Touraine,  Poitou,  Saint- 
onge,  etc.,  became  definitely  French.  Under  Louis  XI. 
[1461-1483]  ten  provinces,  three  of  which  have  been  since 
lost  and  regained,  were  also  united  to  France — Roussillon 
and  Cerdagne,  Burgundy,  Franche-Conte,  Picardy,  Artois, 
Provence,  Maine,  Anjou,  and  Perche.  Under  Charles  VIII. 
and  Louis  XII.  [1483-15 15]  the  successive  marriages  of  Anne 
with  these  two  kings  gave  her  Britany.  Thus,  at  the  same 
period,  and  during  the  course  of  the  same  events,  France, 
morally  as  well  as  physically,  acquired  at  once  strength  and 
unity. 

Let  us  turn  from  the  nation  to  the  government,  and  we 
shall  see  the  accomplishment  of  events  of  the  same  nature; 
we  shall  advance  toward  the  same  result.  The  French  gov- 
erment  had  never  been  more  destitute  of  unity,  of  cohesion, 
and  of  strength,  than  under  the  reign  of  Charles  VI.  [1380- 
1422],  and  during  the  first  part  of  the  reign  of  Charles  VII. 
At  the  end  of  this  reign  [146 1],  the  appearance  of  everything 
was  changed.     There  were  evident  marks  of  a  power  which 


204  GENERAL    HISTORY    OF 

was  confirming,  extending,  organizing  itself.  All  the  great 
resources  of  government,  taxation,  military  force,  and  ad- 
ministration of  justice,  were  created  on  a  great  scale,  and 
almost  simultaneously.  This  was  the  period  of  the  forma- 
tion of  a  standing  army,  of  permanent  militia,  and  of  com- 
pagmes-d' ordonnance,  consisting  of  cavalry,  free  archers,  and 
infantry.  By  these  companies,  Charles  VII.  re-established 
a  degree  of  order  in  the  provinces,  which  had  been  desolated 
by  the  license  and  exactions  of  the  soldiery,  even  after  the 
war  had  ceased.  All  contemporary  historians  expatiate  on 
the  wonderful  effects  of  the  compagnies-d' ordonnance.  It  was 
at  this  period  that  the  taille^  one  of  the  principal  revenues  of 
the  crown,  was  made  perpetual;  a  serious  inroad  on  the 
liberty  of  the  people,  but  which  contributed  powerfully  to 
the  regularity  and  strength  of  the  government.  At  the  same 
time  the  great  instrument  of  power,  the  administration  of 
justice,  was  extended  and  organized;  parliaments  were  mul- 
tiplied, five  new  parliaments  having  been  instituted  in  a 
short  space  of  time: — under  Louis  XL,  the  parliaments  of 
Grenoble  (in  145 1),  of  Bordeaux  (in  1462),  and  of  Dijon  (in 
1477);  under  Louis  XII.,  the  parliaments  of  Roun  (in  1499), 
and  of  Aix  (in  1501).  The  parliament  of  Paris  also  acquired, 
about  the  same  time,  much  additional  importance  and  sta- 
bility, both  in  regard  to  the  administration  of  justice,  and 
the  superintendence  of  the  police  within  its  jurisdiction. 

Thus,  in  relation  to  the  military  force,  the  power  of  taxa- 
tion, and  the  administration  of  justice,  that  is  to  say,  in 
regard  to  those  things  which  form  its  essence,  government 
acquired  in  France,  in  the  fifteenth  century,  a  character  of 
unity,  regularity,  and  permanence,  previously  unknown;  and 
the  feudal  powers  were  finally  superseded  by  the  power  of 
the  state. 

At  the  same  time,  too,  was  accomplished  a  change  of  very 
different  character;  a  change  not  so  visible,  and  which  has 
not  so  much  attracted  the  notice  of  historians,  but  still  more 
important,  perhaps,  than  those  which  have  been  mentioned: 
the  change  effected  by  Louis  XL  in  the  mode  of  governing. 

A  great  deal  has  been  said  about  the  struggle  of  Louis 
XL  [1461-1483]  against  the  grandees  of  the  kingdom,  of 
their  depression,  and  of  his  partiality  for  the  citizens  and 
the  inferior  classes.  There  is  truth  in  all  this,  though  it  has 
been  much  exaggerated,  and  though  the  conduct  of  Louis 
XI,  toward  the  different  classes  of  society  more  frequently 
disturbed  than  benefited  the  state.     But  he  did  something 


CIVILIZATION    IN    MODERN    EUROPE.  205 

of  deeper  import.  Before  his  time  the  government  had  been 
carried  on  almost  entirely  by  force,  and  by  mere  physical 
means.  Persuasion,  address,  care  in  working  upon  men's 
minds,  and  in  bringing  them  over  to  the  views  of  the  govern- 
ment— in  a  word,  what  is  properly  called  policy — a  policy, 
indeed,  of  falsehood  and  deceit,  but  also  of  management  and 
prudence — had  hitherto  been  little  attended  to.  Louis  XI. 
substituted  intellectual  for  material  means,  cunning  for  force, 
Italian  for  feudal  policy.  Take  the  two  men  whose  rivalry 
engrosses  this  period  of  our  history,  Charles  the  Bold  and 
Louis  XL:  Charles  is  the  representative  of  the  old  mode  of 
governing;  he  has  recourse  to  no  other  means  than  violence; 
he  constantly  appeals  to  arms;  he  is  unable  to  act  with 
patience,  or  to  address  himself  to  the  dispositions  and  tem- 
pers of  men  in  order  to  make  them  the  instruments  of  his 
designs.  Louis  XL,  on  the  contrary,  takes  pleasure  in 
avoiding  the  use  of  force,  and  in  gaining  an  ascendency  over 
men,  by  conversation  with  individuals,  and  by  skilfully  bring- 
ing into  play  their  interests  and  peculiarities  of  character. 
It  was  not  the  public  institutions  or  the  external  system  of 
government  that  he  changed;  it  was  the  secret  proceedings, 
the  tactics,  of  power.  It  was  reserved  for  modern  times  to 
attempt  a  still  greater  revolution;  to  endeavor  to  introduce 
into  the  means,  as  well  as  the  objecs,  of  public  policy,  justice 
in  place  of  self-interest,  publicity  instead  of  cunning.  Still, 
however,  a  great  step  was  gained  by  renouncing  the  continued 
use  of  force,  by  calling  in  the  aid  of  intellectual  superiority, 
by  governing  through  the  understandings  of  men,  and  not 
by  overturning  everything  that  stood  in  the  way  of  the  exer- 
cise of  power.  This  is  the  great  change  which,  among  all 
his  errors  and  crimes,  in  spite  of  the  perversity  of  his  nature, 
and  solely  by  the  strength  of  his  powerful  intellect,  Louis 
XL  has  the  merit  of  having  begun. 

From  France  I  turn  to  Spain;  and  there  I  find  move- 
ments of  the  same  nature.  It  was  also  in  the  fifteenth  cen- 
tury that  Spain  was  consolidated  into  one  kingdom.  At  this 
time  an  end  was  put  to  the  long  struggle  between  the  Chris- 
tians, and  Moors,  by  the  conquest  of  Grenada.  Then,  too, 
the  Spanish  territory  became  centralized:  by  the  marriage  of 
Ferdinand  the  Catholic,  and  Isabella,  the  two  principal  king- 
doms, Castile  and  Arragon,  were  united  under  the  same 
dominion.  In  the  same  manner  as  in  France,  the  monarchy 
was  extended  and  confirmed.  It  was  supported  by  severer 
institutions,  which  bore  more  gloomy  names.     Instead  of 


2o6  GENERAL    HISTORY    OF 

parliaments,  it  was  the  inquisition  that  had  its  origin  in  Spain. 
It  contained  the  germ  of  what  it  afterward  became;  but  at 
first  it  was  of  a  political  rather  than  a  religious  nature  and 
was  destined  to  maintain  civil  order  rather  than  defend  reli- 
gious faith.  The  analogy  between  the  countries  extends 
beyond  their  institutions;  it  is  observable  even  in  the  persons 
of  the  sovereigns.  With  less  subtlety  of  intellect,  and  a  less 
active  and  intriguing  spirit,  Ferdinand  the  Catholic,  in  his 
character  and  government,  strongly  resembles  Louis  XI.  I 
pay  no  regard  to  arbitrary  comparisons  or  fanciful  parallels, 
but  here  the  analogy  is  strong,  and  observable  in  general 
facts  as  well  as  in  minute  details. 

A  similar  analogy  may  be  discovered  in  Germany.  It 
was  in  the  middle  of  the  fifteenth  century,  in  1438,  that  the 
house  of  Austria  came  to  the  empire;  and  that  the  imperial 
power  acquired  a  permanence  which  it  had  never  before  pos- 
sessed. From  that  time  election  was  merely  a  sanction  given 
to  hereditary  right.  At  the  end  of  the  fifteenth  century, 
Maximilian  I.  definitively  established  the  preponderance  of 
his  house  and  the  regular  exercise  of  the  central  authority; 
Charles  VII,  was  the  first  in  France  who,  for  the  preserva- 
tion of  order,  created  a  permanent  militia;  Maximilian,  too, 
was  the  first  in  his  hereditary  dominions,  who  accomplished 
the  same  end  by  the  same  means.  Louis  XL  had  established 
in  France,  the  post-office  for  the  conveyance  of  letters; 
Maximilian  I.  introduced  it  into  Germany.  In  the  progress 
of  civilization  the  same  steps  were  everywhere  taken,  in  a 
similar  way,  for  the  advantage  of  central  government. 

The  history  of  England  in  the  fifteenth  century  consists 
of  two  great  events — the  war  with  France  abroad,  and  the 
contest  of  the  two  Roses  at  home.  These  two  wars,  though 
different  in  their  nature,  were  attended  with  similar  results. 
The  contest  with  France  was  maintained  by  the  English  peo- 
ple with  a  degree  of  ardor  which  went  entirely  to  the  profit 
of  royalty.  The  people,  already  remarkable  for  the  prudence 
and  determination  with  which  they  defended  their  resources 
and  treasures,  surrendered  them  at  that  period  to  their  mon- 
archs,  without  foresight  or  measure.  It  was  in  the  reign  of 
Henry  V.  that  a  considerable  tax,  consisting  of  custom-house 
duties,  was  granted  to  the  king  for  his  lifetime,  almost  at  the 
beginning  of  his  reign.  The  foreign  war  was  scarcely  ended, 
when  the  civil  war,  which  had  already  broken  out,  was  car- 
ried  on;  the  houses  of  York   and   Lancaster  disputed   the 


CIVILIZATION    IN    MODERN    EUROPE.  267 

throne.  When  at  length  these  sanguinary  struggles  were 
brought  to  an  "end,  the  English  nobility  were  ruined,  dimin- 
ished in  number,  and  no  longer  able  to  preserve  the  power 
which  they  had  previously  exercised.  The  coalition  of  the 
great  barons  was  no  longer  able  to  govern  the  throne.  The 
Tudors  ascended  it;  and  with  Henry  VII.,  in  1485,  begins 
the  era  of  political  centralization,  the  triumph  of  royalty. 

Monarchy  did  not  establish  itself  in  Italy,  at  least  under 
that  name;  but  this  made  little  difference  as  to  the  result.  It 
was  in  the  fifteenth  century  that  the  fall  of  the  Italian  repub- 
lics took  place.  Even  where  the  name  was  retained,  the 
power  became  concentrated  in  the  hands  of  one,  or  of  a  few 
families.  The  spirit  of  republicanism  was  extinguished.  In 
the  north  of  Italy,  almost  all  the  Lombard  republics  merged 
in  the  Dutchy  of  Milan.  In  1434,  Florence  fell  under  the 
dominion  of  the  Medicis.  In  1464,  Genoa  became  subject  to 
Milan.  The  greater  part  of  the  republics,  great  and  small, 
yielded  to  the  power  of  sovereign  houses;  and  soon  after- 
ward began  the  pretensions  of  foreign  sovereigns  to  the 
dominion  of  the  north  and  south  of  Italy;  to  the  Milanese 
and  kingdom  of  Naples. 

Indeed,  to  whatever  country  of  Europe  we  cast  our  eyes, 
whatever  portion  of  its  history  we  consider,  whether  it  relates 
to  the  nations  themselves  or  their  governments,  to  their  ter- 
ritories or  their  institutions,  we  everywhere  see  the  old  ele- 
ments, the  old  forms  of  society,  disappearing.  Those  liber- 
ties which  were  founded  on  tradition  were  lost;  new  powers 
arose,  more  regular  and  concentrated  than  those  which  pre- 
viously existed.  There  is  something  deeply  melancholy  in 
this  view  of  the  fall  of  the  ancient  liberties  of  Europe.  Even 
in  its  own  time  it  inspired  feelings  of  the  utmost  bitterness. 
In  France,  in  Germany,  and  above  all,  in  Italy,  the  patriots 
of  the  fifteenth  century  resisted  with  ardor,  and  lamented 
with  despair,  that  revolucion  which  everywhere  produced  the 
rise  of  what  they  were  entitled  to  call  despotism.  We  must 
admire  their  courage  and  feel  for  their  sorrow;  but  at  the 
same  time  we  must  be  aware  that  this  revolution  was  not  only 
inevitable,  but  useful.  The  primitive  system  of  Europe — the 
old  feudal  and  municipal  liberties — had  failed  in  the  organi- 
zation of  a  general  society.  Security  and  progress  are 
essential  to  social  existence.  Every  system  which  does  not 
provide  for  present  order,  and  progressive  advancement  far 
the  future,  is  vicious,  and  speedily  abandoned.     And  this 


^08  GENERAL    HISTORY    OF 

was  the  fate  of  the  old  political  forms  of  society,  of  the  an- 
cient liberties  of  Europe  in  the  fifteenth  century.  They 
could  not  give  to  society  either  security  or  progress.  These 
objects  naturally  became  sought  for  elsewhere;  to  obtain 
them,  recourse  was  had  to  other  principles  and  other  means: 
and  this  is  the  import  of  all  the  facts  to  which  I  have  just 
called  your  attention. 

To  this  same  period  may  be  assigned  another  circum- 
stance which  has  had  a  great  influence  on  the  political  his- 
tory of  Europe.  It  was  in  the  fifteenth  century  that  the 
relations  of  governments  with  each  other  began  to  be  fre- 
quent, regular,  and  permanent.  Now,  for  the  first  time, 
became  formed  those  great  combinations  by  means  of  al- 
liance, for  peaceful  as  well  as  warlike  objects,  which,  at  a 
later  period,  gave  rise  to  the  system  of  the  balance  of  power. 
European  diplomacy  originated  in  the  fifteenth  century.  In 
fact  you  may  see,  toward  its  close,  the  principal  powers  of 
the  continent  of  Europe,  the  popes,  the  dukes  of  Milan,  the 
Venetians,  the  German  emperors,  and  the  kings  of  France  and 
Spain,  entering  into  a  closer  correspondence  with  each  other 
than  had  hitherto  existed;  negotiating,  combining,  and  bal- 
ancing their  various  interests.  Thus  at  the  very  time  when 
Charles  VIII.  set  on  foot  his  expedition  to  conquer  the  king- 
dom of  Naples,  a  great  league  was  formed  against  him, 
between  Spain,  the  Pope,  and  the  Venetians.  The  league 
of  Cambray  was  formed  some  years  later  (in  1508),  against 
the  Venetians.  The  holy  league  directed  against  Louis  XII. 
succeeded,  in  15 11,  to  the  league  of  Cambray.  All  these 
combinations  had  their  rise  in  Italian  policy;  in  the  desire  of 
different  sovereigns  to  possess  its  territory;  and  in  the  fear 
lest  any  of  them,  by  obtaining  an  exclusive  possession,  should 
acquire  an  excessive  preponderance.  This  new  order  of 
things  was  very  favorable  to  the  career  of  monarchy.  On 
the  one  hand,  it  belongs  to  the  very  nature  of  the  external 
relations  of  states  that  they  can  be  conducted  only  by  a 
single  person,  or  by  a  very  small  number,  and  that  they 
require  a  certain  degree  of  secrecy:  on  the  other  hand,  the 
people  were  so  little  enlightened  that  the  consequences  of  a 
combination  of  this  kind  quite  escaped  them.  As  it  had  no 
direct  bearing  on  their  individual  or  domestic  life,  they 
troubled  themselves  little  about  it;  and,  as  usual,  left  such 
transactions  to  the  discretion  of  the  central  government. 
Thus  diplomacy,  in  its  very  birth,  fell  into  the  hands  of  kings; 
and  the  opinion,  that  it  belongs  to  them  exclusively;  that  the 


CIVILIZATION    IN    MODERN    EUROPE.  2og 

nation,  even  when  free,  and  possessed  of  the  right  of  voting 
its  own  taxes,  and  interfering  in  the  management  of  its  do- 
mestic affairs,  has  no  right  to  intermeddle  in  foreign  matters; 
— this  opinion,  I  say,  became  estabHshed  in  all  parts  of 
Europe,  as  a  settled  principle,  a  maxim  of  common  law. 
Look  into  the  history  of  England  in  the  sixteenth  and  seven- 
teenth centuries;  and  you  will  observe  the  great  influence  of 
that  opinion,  and  the  obstacles  it  presented  to  the  liberties 
of  England  in  the  reigns  of  Elizabeth,  James  I.,  and  Charles 
I.  It  is  always  under  the  sanction  of  the  principle,  that 
peace  and  war,  commercial  relations,  and  all  foreign  affairs, 
belong  to  the  royal  prerogative,  that  absolute  power  defends 
itself  against  the  rights  of  the  country.  The  people  are  re- 
markably timid  in  disputing  this  portion  of  the  prerogative; 
and  their  timidity  has  cost  them  the  dearer,  for  this  reason, 
that,  from,  the  commencement  of  the  period  into  which  we 
are  now  entering  (that  is  to  say,  the  sixteenth  century),  the 
history  of  Europe  is  essentially  diplomatic.  For  nearly  three 
centuries,  foreign  relations  form  the  most  important  part  of 
history.  The  domestic  affairs  of  countries  began  to  be 
regularly  conducted;  the  internal  government,  on  the  Con- 
tinent at  least,  no  longer  produced  any  violent  convulsions, 
and  no  longer  kept  the  public  mind  in  a  state  of  agitation 
and  excitement.  Foreign  relations,  wars,  treaties,  alliances, 
alone  occupy  the  attention  and  fill  the  page  of  history;  so 
that  we  find  the  destinies  of  nations  abandoned  in  a  great 
measure  to  the  royal  prerogative,  to  the  central  power  of  the 
state. 

It  could  scarcely  have  happened  otherwise.  Civilization 
must  have  made  great  progress,  intelligence,  and  political 
habits  must  be  widely  diffused,  before  the  public  can  inter- 
fere with  advantage  in  matters  of  this  kind.  From  the  six- 
teenth to  the  eighteenth  century,  the  people  were  far  from 
being  sufficiently  advanced  to  do  so.  Observe  what  occurred 
in  England,  under  James  I.,  at  the  beginning  of  the  seven- 
teenth century.  His  son-in-law,  the  Elector  Palatine,  who 
had  been  elected  king  of  Bohemia,  had  lost  his  crown,  and 
had  even  been  stripped  of  his  hereditary  dominions,  the 
Palatinate.  Protestanism  everywhere  espoused  his  cause; 
and,  on  this  ground,  England  took  a  warm  interest  in  it. 
There  was  a  great  manifestation  of  public  opinion  in  order 
to  force  James  to  take  the  part  of  his  son-in-law,  and  obtain 
for  him  the  restoration  of  the  Palatinate.  Parliament  insisted 
violently  for  war,  promising  ample  means  to  carry  it  on. 
James  was  indifferent  on  the  subject;  he  made  several  at- 


210  GENERAL    HISTORV    OF 

tempts  to  negotiate,  and  sent  some  troops  to  Germany;  he 
then  told  parliament  that  he  required  ;^9oo,ooo  sterling,  to 
carry  on  the  war  with  any  chance  of  success.  It  is  not  said, 
and  indeed  it  does  not  appear,  that  his  estimate  was  exag- 
gerated. But  parliament  shrunk  back  with  astonishment  and 
terror  at  the  sound  of  such  a  sum,  and  could  hardly  be  pre- 
vailed upon  to  vote  ;!^7o,ooo  sterling,  to  reinstate  a  prince, 
and  reconquer  a  country  three  hundred  leagues  distant  from 
England.  Such  were  the  ignorance  and  political  incapacity 
of  the  public  in  affairs  of  this  nature;  they  acted  without  any 
knowledge  of  facts,  or  any  consideration  of  consequences. 
How  then  could  they  be  capable  of  interfering  in  a  regular 
and  effectual  manner?  This  is  the  cause  which  principally 
contributed  to  make  foriegn  relations  fall  into  the  hands  of 
the  central  power;  no  other  was  in  a  condition  to  conduct 
them,  I  shall  not  say  for  the  public  benefit,  which  was  very 
far  from  being  always  consulted,  but  with  anything  like  con- 
sistency and  good  sense. 

It  may  be  seen,  then,  that  in  whatever  point  of  view  we 
regard  the  political  history  of  Europe  at  this  period — whether 
we  look  upon  the  internal  condition  of  different  nations,  or 
upon  their  relation  with  each  other — whether  we  consider 
the  means  of  warfare,  the  administration  of  justice,  or  the 
levying  of  taxes,  we  find  them  pervaded  by  the  same  charac- 
ter; we  see  everywhere  the  same  tendency  to  centralization, 
to  unity,  to  the  formation  and  preponderance  of  general  in- 
terests and  public  powers.  This  was  the  hidden  working  of 
the  fifteenth  century,  which,  at  the  period  we  are  speaking 
of,  had  not  yet  produced  any  very  apparent  result,  or  any 
actual  revolution  in  society,  but  was  preparing  all  those  con- 
sequences which  afterward  took  place. 

I  shall  now  bring  before  you  a  class  of  facts  of  a  different 
nature;  vioral  i3.Q,is,  such  as  stand  in  relation  to  the  develop- 
ment of  the  human  mind  and  the  ormation  of  general  ideas. 
In  these  again  we  shall  discover  the  same  phenomena,  and 
arrive  at  the  same  result. 

I  shall  begin  with  an  order  of  facts  which  has  often  en- 
gaged our  attention,  and  under  the  most  various  forms,  has 
always  held  an  important  place  in  the  history  of  Europe — 
the  facts  relative  to  the  Church.  Down  to  the  fifteenth  cen- 
tury, the  only  general  ideas  which  had  a  powerful  influence 
on  the   masses  were   those  connected  with   religion.      The 


CiVILl2AT10N    IN    MODERN    EUROPE.  211 

Church  alone  was  invested  with  the  power  of  regulating, 
promulgating,  and  prescribing  them.  Attempts,  it  is  true, 
at  independence,  and  even  at  separation,  were  frequently 
made;  and  the  Chucrh  had  much  to  do  to  overcome  them. 
Down  to  this  period,  however,  she  had  been  successful. 
Creeds  rejected  by  the  Church  had  never  taken  any  general 
or  permanent  hold  on  the  minds  of  the  people:  even  Albi- 
genses  had  been  repressed.  Dissension  and  strife  were 
incessant  in  the  Church,  but  without  any  decisive  and  strik- 
ing result.  The  fifteenth  century  opened  with  the  appear- 
ance of  a  different  state  of  things.  New  ideas,  and  a  public 
and  avowed  desire  of  change  and  reformation,  began  to 
agitate  the  Church  herself.  The  end  of  the  fourteenth  and 
beginning  of  the  fifteenth  century  were  marked  by  the  great 
schism  of  the  west,  resulting  from  the  removal  of  the  papal 
chair  to  Avignon,  and  the  creation  of  two  popes,  one  at 
Avignon,  and  the  other  at  Rome.  The  contest  between 
these  two  papacies  is  what  is  called  the  great  schism  of  the 
west.  It  began  in  1378.  In  1409,  the  Council  of  Pisa  en- 
deavored to  put  an  end  to  it  by  deposing  the  two  rival  popes 
and  electing  another.  But  instead  of  ending  the  schism,  this 
step  only  rendered  it  more  violent. 

There  were  now  three  popes  instead  of  two,  and  disorders 
and  abuses  went  on  increasing.  In  1414,  the  Council  of 
Constance  assembled,  convoked  by  desire  of  the  Emperor 
Sigismund.  This  council  set  about  a  matter  of  far  more 
importance  than  the  nomination  of  a  new  pope;  it  undertook 
the  reformation  of  the  Church.  It  began  by  proclaiming  the 
indissolubility  of  the  universal  council,  and  its  superiority 
over  the  papal  power.  It  endeavored  to  establish  these 
principles  in  the  Church,  and  to  reform  the  abuses  which 
had  crept  into  it,  particularly  the  exactions  by  which  the 
Court  of  Rome  obtained  money.  To  accomplish  this  object 
the  council  appointed  what  we  should  call  a  commission  of 
inquiry,  in  other  words,  a  Reform  College^  composed  of 
deputies  to  the  council,  chosen  in  the  different  Christian 
nations.  This  college  was  directed  to  inquire  into  the  abuses 
which  polluted  the  Church,  and  into  the  means  of  remedying 
them,  and  to  make  a  report  to  the  council,  in  order  that  it 
might  deliberate  on  the  proceedings  to  be  adopted.  But 
while  the  council  was  thus  engaged,  the  question  was  started, 
whether  it  could  proceed  to  the  reform  of  abuses  without  the 
visible  concurrence  of  the  head  of  the  Church,  without  the 
sanction  of  the  pope.  It  was  carried  in  the  negative  through 
the  influence  of  the  Roman  party,  supported  by  some  well- 


512  GENERAL    HISTORY    OF 

meaning  but  timid  individuals.  The  council  elected  a  new 
pope,  Martin  V.,  in  141 7.  The  pope  was  instructed  to  pre- 
sent, on  his  part,  a  plan  for  the  reform  of  the  Church.  This 
plan  was  rejected,  and  the  council  separated.  In  1431,  a 
new  council  assembled  at  Bale  with  the  same  design.  It 
resumed  and  continued  the  reforming  labors  of  the  Council 
of  Constance,  but  with  no  better  success.  Schism  broke  out 
in  this  assembly  as  it  had  done  in  Christendom.  The  pope 
removed  the  council  to  Ferrara,  and  afterward  to  Florence. 
A  portion  of  the  prelates  refused  to  obey  the  pope,  and  re- 
mained at  Bale;  and,  as  there  had  been  formerly  two  popes, 
so  now  there  were  two  councils.  That  of  Bale  continued  its 
projects  of  reform;  named  as  its  pope,  Felix  V.;  some  time 
afterward  removed  to  Lausanne;  and  dissolved  itself  in  1449, 
without  having  effected  anything. 

In  this  manner  papacy  gained  the  day,  remained  in  pos- 
session of  the  field  of  battle,  and  of  the  government  of  the 
Church.  The  council  could  not  accomplish  that  which  it 
had  set  about;  but  it  did  something  else  which  it  had  not 
thought  of,  and  which  survived  its  dissolution.  Just  at  the 
time  the  Council  of  Bale  failed  in  its  attempts  at  reform, 
sovereigns  were  adopting  the  ideas  which  it  had  proclaimed, 
and  some  of  the  institutions  which  it  had  suggested.  In 
France,  and  with  the  decrees  of  the  Council  of  Bale,  Charles 
VII.  formed  the  pragmatic  sanction,  which  he  proclaimed  at 
Bourges  in  1438;  it  authorized  the  election  of  bishops,  the 
suppression  of  annates  (or  first-fruits),  and  the  reform  of  the 
principal  abuses  introduced  into  the  Church.  The  pragmatic 
sanction  was  declared  in  France  to  be  a  law  of  the  state.  In 
Germany,  the  Diet  of  Mayence  adopted  it  in  1439,  ^^^  ^^^o 
made  it  a  law  of  the  German  empire.  What  spiritual  power 
had  tried  without  success,  temporal  power  seemed  determined 
to  accomplish. 

But  the  projects  of  the  reformers  met  with  a  new  reverse 
of  fortune.  As  the  council  had  failed,  so  did  the  pragmatic 
sanction.  It  perished  very  soon  in  Germany.  It  was  aban- 
doned by  the  Diet  in  1448,  in  virtue  of  a  negotiation  with 
Nicholas  V.  In  15 16,  Francis  I.  abandoned  it  also,  substi- 
tuting for  it  his  concordat  with  Leo  X.  The  reform  attempted 
by  princes  did  not  succeed  better  than  that  set  on  foot  by 
the  clergy.  But  we  must  not  conclude  that  it  was  entirely 
thrown  away.  In  like  manner  as  the  council  had  done 
things  which    survived    it,  so  the    pragmatic  sanction    had 


CIVILIZATION    IN    MODERN    EUROPE.  213 

effects  which  survived  it  also,  and  will  be  found  to  make  an 
important  figure  in  modern  history.  The  principles  of  the 
Council  of  Bale  were  strong  and  fruitful.  Men  of  superior 
minds,  and  of  energetic  characters,  had  adopted  and  main- 
tained them.  John  of  Paris,  D'Ailly,  Gerson,  and  many  dis- 
tinguished men  of  the  fifteenth  century,  had  devoted  them- 
selves to  their  defence.  It  was  in  vain  that  the  council  was 
dissolved;  it  was  in  vain  that  the  pragmatic  sanction  was 
abandoned;  their  general  doctrines  respecting  the  govern- 
ment of  the  Church,  and  the  reforms  which  were  necessary, 
took  root  in  France.  They  were  spread  abroad,  found  their 
way  into  parliaments,  took  a  strong  hold  of  the  public  mind, 
and  gave  birth  first  to  the  Jansenists,  and  then  to  the  Galil- 
eans. This  entire  series  of  maxims  and  efforts  tending  to 
the  reform  of  the  Church,  which  began  with  the  Council  of 
Constance,  and  terminated  in  the  four  propositions  of  Bos- 
suet,  emanated  from  the  same  source,  and  was  directed  to 
the  same  object.  It  is  the  same  fact  which  has  undergone 
successive  transformations.  Notwithstanding  the  failure  of 
the  legal  attempts  at  reform  made  in  the  fifteenth  century, 
they  indirectly  had  an  immense  influence  upon  the  progress 
of  civilization;  and  must  not  be  left  out  of  its  history. 

The  councils  were  right  in  trying  for  a  legal  reform,  for 
it  was  the  only  way  to  prevent  a  revolution.  Nearly  at  the 
same  time  when  the  Council  of  Pisa  was  endeavoring  to 
put  an  end  to  the  great  western  schism,  and  the  Council  of 
Constance  to  reform  the  Church,  the  first  attempts  at  popular 
religious  reform  broke  out  in  Bohemia.  The  preaching  of 
John  Huss,  and  his  progress  as  a  reformer,  commenced  in 
1404,  when  he  began  to  teach  at  Prague.  Here,  then,  we 
have  two  reforms  going  on  side  by  side;  the  one  in  the  very 
bosom  of  the  Church — attempted  by  the  ecclesiastical  aris- 
tocracy itself — cautious,  embarrassed,  and  timid;  the  other 
originating  without  the  Church,  and  directed  agamst  it — 
violent,  passionate,  and  impetuous.  A  contest  began  be- 
tween these  two  powers,  these  two  parties.  The  council 
enticed  John  Huss  and  Jerome  of  Prague  to  Constance,  and 
condemned  them  to  the  flames  as  heretics  and  revolutionists. 
These  events  are  perfectly  intelligible  to  us  now.  We  can 
very  well  understand  this  simultaneous  existence  of  separate 
reforms,  one  undertaken  by  governments,  the  other  by  the 
people,  hostile  to  each  other,  yet  springing  from  the  same 
cause,  and  tending  to  the  same  object,  and,  though  opposed 
to  each  other,  finally  concurring  in  the  same  result.     This  is 


214  GENERAL    HISTORY    OF 

what  happened  in  the  fifteenth  century.  The  popular  reform 
of  John  Huss  was  stifled  for  the  moment;  the  war  of  the 
Hussites  broke  out  three  or  four  years  after  the  death  of 
their  master;  it  was  long  and  violent,  but  at  last  the  empire 
was  successful  in  subduing  it.  The  failure  of  the  councils 
in  the  work  of  reform,  their  not  being  able  to  attain  the 
object  they  were  aiming  at,  only  kept  the  public  mind  in  a 
state  of  fermentation.  The  spirit  of  reform  still  existed;  it 
waited  but  for  an  opportunity  again  to  break  out,  and  this  it 
found  at  the  beginning  of  the  sixteenth  century.  Had  the 
reform  undertaken  by  the  councils  been  brought  to  any  good 
issue,  perhaps  the  popular  reform  would  have  been  prevented. 
But  it  was  impossible  that  one  or  the  other  of  them  should 
not  succeed,  for  their  coincidence  shows  their  necessity. 

Such,  then,  is  the  state,  in  respect  to  religious  creeds,  in 
which  Europe  was  left  by  the  fifteenth  century:  an  aristo- 
cratic reform  attempted  without  success,  with  a  popular  sup- 
pressed reform  begun,  but  still  ready  to  break  out  anew. 

It  was  not  solely  to  religious  creeds  that  the  human  mind 
was  directed,  and  busied  itself  about  at  this  period.     It  was 
in  the   course  of  the  fourteenth   century,  as  you   all  know, 
that  Greek  and  Roman  antiquity  was  (if  I  may  use  the  ex- 
pression) restored  to  Europe.     You  know  with  what  ardor 
Dante,    Petrarch,    Bocaccio,   and   all   their   contemporaries, 
sought   for  Greek  and   Latin   manuscripts,  published   them, 
and  spread  them  abroad;  and  what  general  joy  was  produced 
by  the  smallest  discovery  in  this  branch  of  learning.     It  was 
in  the  midst  of  this  excitement  that  the  classical  school  took 
its  rise;  a  school  which  has  performed  a  much  more  impor- 
tant part  in  the  development  of  the  human  mind  than  has 
generally  been  ascribed   to  it.     But  we   must  be  cautious  of 
attaching  to  this  term,  classical  school,  the  meaning  given  to 
it  at  present.     It  had  to  do,  in  those  days,  with  matters  very 
different  from  literary  systems  and  disputes.     The  classical 
school  of  that  period  inspired  its  disciples  with  admiration, 
not  only  for  the  writings  of  A^irgil  and   Homer,  but  for  the 
entire  frame  of  ancient  society,  for  its  institutions,  its  opin- 
ions, its  philosophy,  as  well  as  its  literature.     Antiquity,  it 
must  be  allowed,  whether  as  regards    politics,    philosophy, 
or  literature,  was  greatly  superior  to  the  Europe  of  the  four- 
teenth and  fifteenth  centuries.     It  is  not  surprising,  there- 
fore, that  it  should  have  exercised  so  great  an  influence; 
that  lofty,  vigorous,  elegant,  and  fastidious  minds  should 


CIVILIZATION    IN    MODERN    EUROPE.  215 

have  been  disgusted  with  the  coarse  manners,  the  confused 
ideas,  the  barbarous  modes  of  their  own  time,  and  should 
have  devoted  themselves  with  enthusiasm,  and  almost  with 
veneration,  to  the  study  of  a  state  of  society,  at  once  more 
regular  and  more  perfect  than  their  own.  Thus  was  formed 
that  school  of  bold  thinkers  which  appeared  at  the  com- 
mencement of  the  fifteenth  century,  and  in  which  prelates, 
jurists,  and  men  of  learning  were  united  by  common  senti- 
ments and  common  pursuits. 

In  the  midst  of  this  movement  happened  the  taking  of 
Constantinople  by  the  Turks,  1453,  the  fall  of  the  Eastern 
empire,  and  the  influx  of  the  fugitive  Greek  into  Italy. 
These  brought  with  them  a  greater  knowledge  of  antiquity, 
numerous  manuscripts,  and  a  thosuand  new  means  of  study- 
ing the  civilization  of  the  ancients.  You  may  easily  imagine 
how  this  must  have  redoubled  the  admiration  and  ardor  of 
the  classic  school.  This  was  the  most  brilliant  period  of  the 
Church,  especially  in  Italy,  not  in  respect  of  political  power, 
but  of  wealth  and  luxury.  The  Church  gave  herself  up  to 
all  the  pleasures  of  an  indolent,  elegant,  licentious  civiliza- 
tion; to  a  taste  for  letters,  the  arts,  and  social  and  physical 
enjoyments.  Look  at  the  way  in  which  the  men  who  played 
the  greatest  political  and  literary  parts  at  that  period  passed 
their  lives;  Cardinal  Bembo,  for  example;  and  you  will  be 
surprised  by  the  mixture  which  it  exhibits  of  luxurious 
effeminacy  and  intellectual  culture,  of  enervated  manners 
and  mental  vigor.  In  surveying  this  period,  indeed,  when 
we  look  at  the  state  of  opinions  and  of  social  relations,  we 
might  imagine  ourselves  living  among  the  French  of  the 
eighteenth  century.  There  was  the  same  desire  for  the  pro- 
gress of  intelligence,  and  for  the  acquirement  of  new  ideas; 
the  same  taste  for  an  agreeable  and  easy  life,  the  same 
luxury,  the  same  licentiousness;  there  was  the  same  want  of 
political  energy  and  of  moral  principles,  combined  with 
singular  sincerity  and  activity  of  mind.  The  literati  of  the 
fifteenth  century  stood  in  the  same  relation  to  the  prelates 
of  the  Church  as  the  men  of  letters  and  philosophers  of  the 
eighteenth  did  to  the  nobility.  They  had  the  same  opinions 
and  manners,  lived  agreeably  together,  and  gave  themselves 
no  uneasiness  about  the  storms  that  were  brewing  round 
them.  The  prelates  of  the  fifteenth  century,  and  Cardinal 
Bembo  among  the  rest,  no  more  foresaw  Luther  and  Calvin, 
than  the  courtiers  of  Louis  XIV.  foresaw  the  French  revolu- 
tion. The  analogy  between  the  two  cases  is  striking  and 
instructive. 


2l6  GENERAL    HISTORY    OF    CIVILIZATION. 

We  observe,  then,  three  great  facts  in  the  moral  order  of 
society  at  this  period:  on  one  hand,  an  ecclesiastical  reform 
attempted  by  the  Church  itself;  on  another  a  popular,  reli- 
gious reform;  and  lastly,  an  intellectual  revolution,  which 
formed  a  school  of  free-thinkers;  and  all  these  transforma- 
tions were  prepared  in  the  midst  of  the  greatest  political 
change  that  has  ever  taken  place  in  Europe,  in  the  midst  of 
the  process  of  the  centralization  of  nations  and  governments. 

But  this  is  not  all.  The  period  in  question  was  also  one 
of  the  most  remarkable  for  the  display  of  physical  activity 
among  men.  It  was  a  period  of  voyages,  travels,  enterprises, 
discoveries,  and  inventions  of  every  kind.  It  was  the  time  of 
the  great  Portuguese  expedition  along  the  coast  of  Africa; 
of  the  discovery  of  the  new  passage  to  India  by  the  Cape  of 
Good  Hope,  by  Vasco  de  Gama;  of  the  discovery  of 
America,  by  Christopher  Columbus;  of  the  wonderful  exten- 
sion of  European  commerce.  A  thousand  new  inventions 
started  up;  others  already  known,  but  confined  within  a  nar- 
row sphere,  became  popular  and  in  general  use.  Gunpowder 
changed  the  system  of  war;  the  compass  changed  the  system 
of  navigation.  Painting  in  oil  was  invented,  and  filled 
Europe  with  masterpieces  of  art.  Engraving  on  copper,  in- 
vented in  1406,  multiplied  and  diffused  them.  Paper  made 
of  linen  became  common.  Finally,  between  1436  and  1452, 
was  invented  printing; — printing,  the  theme  of  so  many 
declamations  and  common-places,  but  to  whose  merits  and 
effect  no  common-places  or  declamations  will  ever  be  able  to 
do  justice. 

From  all  this,  some  idea  may  be  formed  of  the  greatness 
and  activity  of  the  fifteenth  century;  a  greatness  which,  at 
the  time,  was  not  very  apparent;  an  activity  of  which  the 
results  did  not  immediately  take  place.  Violent  reforms 
seemed  to  fail;  governments  acquired  stability.  It  might 
have  been  supposed  that  society  was  now  about  to  enjoy  the 
benefits  of  better  order,  and  more  rapid  progress.  The. 
mighty  revolutions  of  the  sixteenth  century  were  at  hand; 
the  fifteenth  century  prepared  them.  They  shall  be  the 
subject  of  the  following  lecture. 


LECTURE   XII. 

THE     REFORMATION. 

I  HAVE  often  referred  to  and  lamented  the  disorder,  the 
chaotic  situation  of  European  society;  I  have  complained 
of  the  difficulty  of  comprehending  and  describing  a  state  of 
society  so  loose,  so  scattered,  and  incoherent;  and  I  have 
kept  you  waiting  with  impatience  for  the  period  of  general 
interests,  order,  and  social  union.  This  period  we  have  now 
reached;  but,  in  treating  of  it,  we  encounter  a  difficulty  of 
another  kind.  Hitherto,  we  have  found  it  difficult  to  con- 
nect historical  facts  one  with  another,  to  class  them  together, 
to  seize  their  common  features,  to  discover  their  points  of 
resemblance.  The  case  is  different  in  modern  Europe;  all 
the  elements,  all  the  incidents  of  social  life  modify,  act  and 
re-act  upon  each  other;  the  mutual  relations  of  men  are 
much  more  numerous  and  complicated;  so  also  are  their 
relations  with  the  governent  and  the  state,  the  relations  of 
states  with  each  other,  and  all  the  ideas  and  operations  of 
the  human  mind.  In  the  periods  through  which  we  have 
already  travelled,  we  have  found  a  great  number  of  facts 
which  were  insulated,  foreign  to  each  other,  and  without  any 
reciprocal  influence.  From  this  time,  however,  we  find 
nothing  insulated;  all  things  press  upon  one  another,  and 
become  modified  and  changed  by  their  mutual  contact  and 
friction.  What,  let  me  ask,  can  be  more  difficult  than  to 
seize  the  real  point  of  unity  in  the  midst  of  such  diversity, 
to  determine  the  direction  of  such  a  widely  spread  and  com- 
plicated movement,  to  sum  up  this  prodigious  number  of 
various  and  closely  connected  elements,  to  point  out  at  last 
the  general  and  leading  fact  which  is  the  sum  of  a  long 
series  of  facts;  which  characterizes  an  era,  and  is  the  true 
expression  of  its  influence,  and  of  the  part  it  has  performed 
in  the  history  of  civilization?  You  will  be  able  to  measure 
at  a  glance  the  extent  of  this  difficulty,  in  the  great  event 
which  is  now  to  engage  our  attention. 

In  the  twelfth  century  we  met  with  an  event  which  was 
religious  in  its  origin  if  not  in  its  nature;  I  mean  the  cru- 
sades.    Notwithstanding  the  greatness  of  this  event,  its  long 


2l8  GENERAL    HISTORY    OF 

duration,  and  the  variety  of  incidents  which  it  brought 
about  it  was  easy  enough  for  us  to  discover  its  general 
character,  and  to  determine  its  influence  with  some  degree  of 
precision 

We  have  now  to  consider  the  religious  revolution  of  the 
sixteenth  century,  which  is  commonly  called  The  Reforma- 
tion. Let  me  be  permitted  to  say  in  passing,  that  I  shall 
use  this  word  reformation  as  a  simple  ordinary  term,  synony- 
mous with  religious  revolutioji^  and  without  attaching  it  to 
any  opinion.  You  must,  I  am  sure,  foresee  at  once,  how 
difficult  it  is  to  discover  the  r^al  character  of  this  great  crisis, 
and  to  explain  in  a  general  manner  what  has  been  its  nature 
and  its  effects. 

The  period  of  our  inquiry  must  extend  from  the  begin* 
ning  of  the  sixteenth  to  the  middle  of  the  seventeenth  cen- 
tury; for  this  period  embraces,  so  to  speak,  the  life  of  this 
event  from  its  birth  to  its  termination.  All  historical  events 
have  in  some  sort  a  determinate  career.  Their  consequences 
are  prolonged  to  infinity;  they  are  connected  with  all  the 
past  and  all  the  future;  but  it  is  not  the  less  true,  on  this 
account,  that  they  have  a  definite  and  limited  existence;  that 
they  have  their  origin  and  their  increase,  occupy  with  their 
development  a  certain  portion  of  time,  and  then  diminish 
and  disappear  from  the  scene,  to  make  way  for  some  new 
event  which  runs  a  similar  course. 

The  precise  date  which  may  be  assigned  to  the  Reforma- 
tion is  not  of  much  importance.  We  may  take  the  year 
1520,  when  Luther  publicly  burnt  at  Wittenberg  the  bull  ot 
Leo  X.,  containing  his  condemnation,  and  thus  formally 
separated  himself  from  the  Romish  Church.  The  interval 
between  this  period  and  the  middle  of  the  seventeenth  cen- 
tury, the  year  1648,  when  the  treaty  of  Westphalia  was  con- 
cluded, comprehends  the  life  of  the  Reformation.  That  this 
is  the  case,  may  be  thus  proved.  The  first  and  greatest 
effect  of  the  religious  revolution  was  to  create  in  Europe  two 
classes  of  states,  the  Catholic  and  the  Protestant,  to  set  them 
against  each  other  and  force  them  into  hostilities.  With 
many  vicissitudes,  the  struggle  between  these  two  parties 
lasted  from  the  beginning  of  the  sixteenth  century  to  the 
middle  of  the  seventeenth.  It  was  by  the  treaty  of  West- 
phalia, in  1648,  that  the  Catholic  and  Protestant  states  re- 
ciprocally acknowledged  each  other,  and  engaged  to  live  in 


CIVILIZATION    IN    MODERN    EUROPE. 


219 


amity  and  peace,  without  regard  to  difference  of  religion. 
After  this,  from  1648,  difference  of  religion  ceased  to  be  the 
leading  principle  of  the  classification  of  states,  of  their  ex- 
ternal policy,  their  relations  and  alliances.  Down  to  that 
time,  notwithstanding  great  variations,  Europe  was  essen- 
tially divided  into  a  Catholic  league  and  a  Protestant  league. 
After  the  treaty  of  Westphalia  this  distinction  disappeared; 
and  alliances  or  divisions  among  states  took  place  from  con- 
siderations altogether  foreign  to  religious  belief.  At  this 
point,  therefore,  the  preponderance,  or,  in  other  words,  the 
career  of  the  Reformation  came  to  an  end,  although  its  con- 
sequences, instead  of  decreasing,  continued  to  develop 
themselves. 

Let  us  now  take  a  rapid  survey  of  this  career,  and  merely 
mentioning  names  and  events,  point  out  its  course.  You 
will  see  from  this  simple  indication,  from  this  dry  and  in- 
complete outline,  what  must  be  the  difficulty  of  summing  up 
a  series  of  such  various  and  complicated  facts  into  one  general 
fact;  of  determining  what  is  the  true  character  of  the  reli- 
gious revolution  of  the  sixteenth  century,  and  of  assigning 
to  it  its  true  part  in  the  history  of  civilization. 

The  moment  in  which  the  Reformation  broke  out  is  re- 
markable for  its  political  importance.  It  was  in  the  midst  of 
the  great  struggle  between  Francis  and  Charles  V. — between 
France  and  Spain;  a  struggle  at  first  for  the  possession  of 
Italy,  but  afterward  for  the  German  empire,  and  finally  for 
preponderance  in  Europe.  It  was  the  moment  in  which  the 
house  of  Austria  elevated  itself  and  became  predominant  in 
Europe.  It  was  also  the  moment  in  which  England,  through 
Henry  VIII.,  interfered  in  continental  politics,  more  regu- 
larly, permanently,  and  extensively  than  she  had  ever  done 
before. 

If  we  follow  the  course  of  the  sixteenth  century  in  France, 
we  shall  find  it  entirely  occupied  by  the  great  religious  wars 
between  Protestants  and  Catholics;  wars  which  became  the 
means  and  the  occasion  of  a  new  attempt  of  the  great  nobles 
to  repossess  themselves  of  the  power  which  they  had  lost, 
and  to  obtain  an  ascendency  over  the  sovereign.  This  was 
the  political  meaning  of  the  religious  wars  of  France,  of  the 
League,  of  the  struggle  between  the  houses  of  Guise  and 
Valois — a  struggle  which  was  put  an  end  to  by  the  accession 
of  Henry  IV. 


220  GENERAL    HISTORY    OF 

In  Spain,  the  revolution  of  the  United  Provinces  broke 
out  about  the  middle  of  the  reign  of  Philip  II.  The  inquisi- 
tion on  one  hand  and  civil  and  religious  liberty  on  the  other 
made  these  provinces  the  theatre  of  war  under  the  names  of 
the  Duke  of  Alva  and  the  Prince  of  Orange.  Perseverance 
and  prudence  secured  the  triumph  of  liberty  in  Holland,  but 
it  perished  in  Spain,  where  absolute  power,  ecclesiastical 
and  civil,  reigned  without  control. 

In  England  the  circumstances  to  be  noted  are,  the  reigns 
of  Mary  and  Elizabeth;  the  struggle  of  Elizabeth,  as  head  of 
the  Protestant  interests  against  Philip  II.;  the  accession  of 
James  Stuart  to  the  throne  of  England;  and  the  rise  of  the 
great  dispute  between  the  monarchy  and  the  people. 

About  the  same  time  we  note  the  creation  of  new  powers 
in  the  north.  Sweden  was  raised  into  existence  by  Gustavus 
Vasa,  in  1523.  Prussia  was  created  by  the  secularization  of 
the  Teutonic  order.  The  northern  powers  assumed  a  place 
in  the  politics  of  Europe  which  they  had  not  occupied  before, 
and  the  importance  of  which  soon  afterward  showed  itself  in 
the  thirty  years'  war. 

I  now  come  back  to  France,  to  note  the  reign  of  Louis 
XIII.;  the  change  in  the  internal  administration  of  this 
country  effected  by  Cardinal  Richelieu;  the  relations  of 
France  with  Germany,  and  the  support  which  she  afforded 
to  the  Protestant  party.  In  Germany,  during  the  latter  part 
of  the  sixteenth  century,  there  was  the  war  with  the  Turks; 
in  the  beginning  of  the  seventeeth,  the  thirty  years'  war, 
the  greatest  of  modern  events  in  eastern  Europe;  Gustavus 
Adolphus,  Wailenstein,  Tilly,  the  Duke  of  Brunswick,  the 
Duke  of  Weimar,  are  the  greatest  names  which  Cxermany  at 
this  time  could  boast  of. 

At  the  same  period,  in  France,  took  place  the  accession 
of  Louis  XIV.  and  the  commencement  of  the  Fronde;  in 
England  broke  out  the  great  revolution,  or,  as  it  is  sometimes 
improperly  called,  the  grand  rebellion,  which  dethroned 
Charles  I. 

In  this  survey,  I  have  only  glanced  at  the  most  prominent 
events  of  history,  events  which  everybody  has  heard  of;  you 
see  their  number,  their  variety,  their  importance.  If  we 
seek  for  events  of  another  kind,  events  less  conspicuous  and 
less  distinguished  by  great  names,  we  shall  find  them  not  less 


CIVILIZATION    IN    MODERN    EUROPE.  221 

abundant  during  this  period;  a  period  remarkable  for  the 
great  changes  which  took  place  in  the  political  institutions  of 
almost  every  country;  the  period  in  which  pure  monarchy 
prevailed  in  most  of  the  great  states,  while  in  Holland  there 
arose  the  most  powerful  republic  in  Europe;  and  in  England 
constitutional  monarchy  achieved,  or  nearly  achieved,  a  final 
triumph.  Then,  in  the  Church,  it  was  during  this  period 
that  the  old  monastic  orders  lost  almost  all  their  political 
power,  and  were  replaced  by  a  new  order  of  a  different 
character,  and  whose  importance,  erroneously  perhaps,  is 
considered  much  superior  to  that  of  its  precursors — I  mean 
the  Jesuits.  At  the  same  period  the  Council  of  Trent  obli- 
terated all  that  remained  of  the  influence  of  the  Councils  of 
Constance  and  Bale,  and  secured  the  definitive  ascendency 
of  the  Court  of  Rome  in  ecclesiastical  affairs.  Leaving  the 
Church,  and  taking  a  passing  glance  at  the  philosophy  of 
the  age,  at  the  unfettered  career  of  the  human  mind,  we 
observe  two  men.  Bacon  and  Descartes,  the  authors  of  the 
greatest  philosophical  revolution  which  the  modern  world 
has  undergone,  the  chiefs  of  the  two  schools  which  contended 
for  supremacy.  It  was  in  this  period  too  that  Italian  literature 
shone  forth  in  its  fullest  splendor,  while  that  of  France  and 
England  was  still  in  its  infancy.  Lastly,  it  was  in  this  period 
that  the  colonial  system  of  Europe  had  its  origin;  that  great 
colonies  were  founded;  and  that  commercial  activity  and  en- 
terprise were  carried  to  an  extent  never  before  known. 

Thus,  under  whatever  point  of  view  we  consider  this  era, 
we  find  its  political,  ecclesiastical,  philosophical,  and  literary 
events,  more  numerous,  varied,  and  important,  than  in  any 
of  the  preceding  ages.  The  activity  of  the  human  mind 
displayed  itself  in  every  way;  in  the  relations  of  men  with 
each  other — in  their  relations  with  the  governing  powers — 
in  the  relations  of  states,  and  in  the  intellectual  labors  of 
individuals.  In  short,  it  was  the  age  of  great  men  and  of 
great  things.  Yet,  among  the  great  events  of  this  period, 
the  religious  revolution  which  now  engages  our  attention 
was  the  greatest.  It  was  the  leading  fact  of  the  period;  the 
fact  which  gives  it  its  name,  and  determines  its  character. 
Among  the  many  powerful  causes  which  have  produced  so 
many  powerful  effects,  the  Reformation  was  the  most  power- 
ful; it  was  that  to  which  all  the  others  contributed;  that 
which  has  modified,  or  been  modified  by,  all  the  rest.  The 
task  which  we  have  now  to  perform,  then,  is  to  review,  with 
precision    this   event;    to  examine    this    cause,  which,   in   a 


222  GENERAL    HISTORY    OF 

period  of  the  greatest  causes,  produced  the  greatest  effects 
— this  event,  which,  in  this  period  of  great  events,  prevailed 
over  all  the  rest. 

You  must,  at  once,  perceive  how  difficult  it  is  to  link  to- 
gether facts  so  diversified,  so  immense,  and  so  closely  con- 
nected, into  one  great  historical  unity.  It  must,  however, 
be  done;  when  events  are  once  consummated,  when  they 
have  become  matter  of  history,  the  most  important  business 
is  then  to  be  attempted;  that  which  man  most  seeks  for  are 
general  facts — the  linking  together  of  causes  and  effects. 
This  is  what  I  may  call  the  immortal  portion  of  history, 
which  all  generations  must  study,  in  order  to  understand  the 
past  as  well  as  the  present  time  This  desire  after  generali- 
zation, of  obtaining  rational  results,  is  the  most  powerul  and 
noblest  of  all  our  intellectual  desires;  but  we  must  beware  of 
being  satisfied  with  hasty  and  incomplete  generalizations. 
No  pleasure  is  more  seducing  than  that  of  indulging  our- 
selves in  determining  on  the  spot,  and  at  first  sight,  the 
general  character  and  permanent  results  of  an  era  or  an 
event.  The  human  intellect,  like  the  human  will,  is  eager 
to  be  in  action,  impatient  of  obstacles,  and  desirous  of  com- 
ing to  conclusions.  It  willingly  forgets  such  facts  as  impede 
and  constrain  its  operations;  but  while  it  forgets,  it  cannot 
destroy  them;  they  still  live  to  convict  it  of  error  at  some 
after  period.  There  is  only  one  way  of  escaping  this  danger; 
it  is  by  a  resolute  and  dogged  study  of  facts,  till  their  mean- 
ing is  exhausted,  before  attempting  to  generalize,  or  coming 
to  conclusions  respecting  their  effects.  Facts  are,  for  the 
intellect,  what  the  rules  of  morals  are  for  the  will.  The 
mind  must  be  thoroughly  acquainted  with  facts,  and  must 
know  their  weight;  and  it  is  only  when  she  has  fulfilled  this 
duty — when  she  has  completely  traversed,  in  every  direction, 
the  ground  of  investigation  and  inquiry — that  she  is  permitted 
to  spread  her  wings  and  take  her  flight  toward  that  higher 
region,  whence  she  may  survey  all  things  in  their  general 
bearings  and  results.  If  she  endeavor  to  ascend  prema- 
turely, without  having  first  acquired  a  thorough  knowledge  of 
the  territory  which  she  desires  to  contemplate  from  above, 
she  incurs  the  most  imminent  risk  of  error  and  downfall. 
As,  in  a  calculation  of  figures,  an  error  at  the  outset  leads  to 
others,  ad  infi7iitum,  so,  in  history,  if  we  do  not,  in  the  first 
instance,  take  every  fact  into  account — if  we  allow  ourselves 
to  indulge  in  a  spirit  of  precipitate  generalization — it  is 
impossible  to  tell  how  far  we  mav  be  led  astrav  from  the 
truth. 


CIVILIZATION    IN    MODERN    EUROPE.  223 

In  these  observations,  I  am,  in  some  measure,  putting 
you  on  your  guard  against  myself.  In  this  course  I  have 
been  able  to  do  little  more  than  make  some  attempts  at 
generalization,  and  take  some  general  views  of  facts  which 
we  had  not  studied  closely  and  together.  Being  now  arrived 
at  a  period  where  this  task  is  much  more  difficult,  and  the 
chances  of  error  greater  thari  before,  I  think  it  necessary  to 
make  you  aware  of  the  danger,  and  warn  you  against  my 
own  speculations.  Having  done  so,  I  shall  now  continue 
them,  and  treat  the  Reformation  in  the  same  way  as  I  have 
done  other  events.  I  shall  endeavor  to  discover  its  leading 
fact,  to  describe  its  leading  fact,  to  describe  its  general 
character,  and  to  show  the  part  which  this  great  event  has 
performed  in  the  process  of  European  civilization. 

You  remember  the  situation  in  which  we  left  Europe,  at 
the  end  of  the  fifteenth  century.  We  saw,  in  the  course  of 
it,  two  great  attempts  at  religious  revolution  or  reform;  an 
attempt  at  legal  reform  by  the  councils,  and  an  attempt  at 
revolutionary  reform,  in  Bohemia,  by  the  Hussites;  we  saw 
both  these  stifled  and  rendered  abortive;  and  yet  we  con- 
cluded that  the  event  was  one  which  could  not  be  staved  off, 
but  that  it  must  necessarily  reappear  in  one  shape  or  another; 
and  that  what  the  fifteenth  century  attempted  would  be  in- 
evitably accomplished  by  the  sixteenth.  I  shall  not  enter 
into  any  details  respecting  the  religious  revolution  of  the 
sixteenth  century,  which  I  consider  as  being  generally 
known.  I  shall  confine  myself  solely  to  the  consideration  of 
its  general  influence  on  the  destinies  of  mankind. 

In  the  inquiries  which  have  been  made  into  the  causes 
which  produced  this  great  event,  the  enemies  of  the  Refor- 
mation have  imputed  it  to  accidents  and  mischances,  in  the 
course  of  civilization;  for  instance,  to  the  sale  of  indulgences 
having  been  intrusted  to  the  Dominicans,  and  excited  the 
jealousy  of  the  Augustines.  Luther  was  an  Augustine;  and 
this,  therefore,  was  the  moving  power  which  put  the  Refor- 
mation in  action.  Others  have  ascribed  it  to  the  ambition  of 
sovereigns — to  their  rivalry  with«the  ecclesiastical  power,  and 
to  the  avidity  of  the  lay  nobility,  who  wished  to  take  posses- 
sion of  the  property  of  the  Church.  In  this  manner  tjie 
Reformation  has  been  accounted  for,  by  looking  at  the  evil 
side  of  human  nature  and  human  affairs;  by  having  recourse 
to  the  private  interests  and  selfish  passions  of  individuals. 

On   the   other  hand,  the   friends   and    partisans    of   the 


224  GENERAL    HISTORY    OF 

Reformation  have  endeavored  to  account  for  it  by  the  pure 
desire  of  effectually  reforming  the  existing  abuses  of  the 
Church.  They  have  represented  it  as  a  redress  of  reHgious 
grievances,  as  an  enterprise  conceived  and  executed  with 
the  sole  design  of  re-constitutmg  the  Church  in  its  primitive 
purity.  Neither  of  these  explanations  appears  to  me  well 
founded.  There  is  more  truth  in  the  latter  than  in  the 
former;  at  least,  the  cause  assigned  is  greater,  and  in  better 
proportion  to  the  extent  and  importance  of  the  event;  but, 
still,  I  do  not  consider  it  as  correct.  In  my  opinion,  the 
Reformation  neither  was  an  accident,  the  result  of  some  causal 
circumstance,  or  some  personal  interests,  nor  arose  from  un- 
mingled  views  of  religious  improvement,  the  fruit  of  Utopian 
humanity  and  truth.  It  had  a  more  powerful  cause  than  all 
these;  a  general  cause,  to  which  all  the  others  were  subor- 
dinate. It  was  a  vast  effort  made  by  the  human  mind  to 
achieve  its  freedom;  it  was  a  new-born  desire  which  it  felt 
to  think  and  judge,  freely  and  independently,  of  facts  and 
opinions  which,  till  then,  Europe  received,  or  was  considered 
bound  to  receive,  from  the  hands  of  authority.  It  was  a 
great  endeavor  to  emancipate  human  reason;  and  to  call 
things  by  their  right  names,  it  was  an  insurrection  of  the 
human  mind  against  the  absolute  power  of  spiritual  order. 
Such,  in  my  opinion,  was  the  true  character  and  leading 
principle  of  the  Reformation. 

When  we  consider  the  state  of  the  human  mind,  at  this 
time,  on  one  hand,  and  the  state  of  the  spiritual  power  of  the 
Church,  which  had  the  government  of  the  human  mind,  on 
the  other,  a  double  fact  presents  itself  to  our  notice. 

In  looking  at  the  human  mind^  we  observe  much  greater 
activity,  and  a  much  greater  desire  to  develop  its  powers, 
than  it  had  ever  felt  before.  This  new  activity  was  the 
result  of  various  causes  which  had  been  accumulating  for 
ages.  For  example,  there  were  ages  in  which  heresies 
sprang  up,  subsisted  for  a  time,  and  then  gave  way  to  others; 
there  were  other  ages  in  which  philosophical  opinions  ran 
just  the  same  course  as  heresies.  The  labors  of  the  human 
mind,  whether  in  the  sphere  of  religion  or  of  philosophy, 
had  been  accumulating  from  the  eleventh  to  the  sixteenth 
century;  and  the  time  was  now  come  when  they  must  neces- 
sarily have  a  result.  Besides  this,  the  means  of  instruction 
created  or  favored  in  the  bosom  of  the  Church  itself,  had 
brought   forth    fruit.      Schools   had   been   instituted;   these 


CIVILIZATION    IN    MODERN    EUROPE.  2^5 

schools  had  produced  men  of  considerable  knowledge,  and 
their  number  had  daily  increased.  These  men  began  to  wish 
to  think  for  themselves,  for  they  felt  themselves  stronger 
than  they  had  ever  been  before.  At  last  came  that  restora- 
tion of  the  human  mind  to  a  pristine  youth  and  vigor,  which 
the  revival  of  the  learning  and  arts  of  antiquity  brought 
about,  the  progress  and  effects  of  which  I  have  already 
described. 

These  various  causes  combined,  gave,  at  the  beginning 
of  the  sixteenth  century,  a  new  and  powerful  impulse  to  the 
human  mind,  an  imperious  desire  to  go  forward. 

The  situation  of  the  spiritual  power,  which  then  had  the 
government  of  the  human  mind,  was  totally  different;  it,  on 
the  contrary,  had  fallen  into  a  state  of  imbecility,  and  re- 
mained stationary.  The  political  influence  of  the  Church 
and  Court  of  Rome  was  much  diminished.  European  society 
had  passed  from  the  dominion  of  Rome  to  that  of  temporal 
governments.  Yet  in  spite  of  all  this,  the  spiritual  power 
still  preserved  its  pretensions,  splendor,  and  outward  impor- 
tance. The  same  thing  happened  to  it  which  has  so  often 
happened  to  long  established  governments.  Most  of  the 
complaints  made  against  it  were  now  almost  groundless.  It 
is  not  true,  that  in  the  sixteenth  century,  the  Court  of  Rome 
was  very  tyrannical;  it  is  not  true,  that  its  abuses  were  more 
numerous  and  crying  than  they  had  been  at  former  periods. 
Never,  perhaps,  on  the  contrary,  had  the  government  of  the 
Church  been  more  indulgent,  more  tolerant,  more  disposed 
to  let  things  take  their  course,  provided  it  was  not  itself  im- 
plicated, provided  that  the  rights  it  had  hitherto  enjoyed 
were  acknowledged  even  though  left  unexercised,  and  that 
it  was  assured  of  its  usual  existence,  and  received  its  usual 
tributes.  It  would  willingly  have  left  the  human  mind  to 
itself,  if  the  human  mind  had  been  as  tolerant  toward  its 
offences.  But  it  usually  happens,  that  just  when  govern- 
ments have  begun  to  lose  their  influence  and  power,  just 
when  they  are  comparatively  harmless,  that  they  are  most 
exposed  to  attack;  it  is  then  that,  like  the  sick  lion,  they 
may  be  attacked  with  impunity,  though  the  attempt  would 
have  been  desperate  when  they  were  in  the  plenitude  of  their 
pbwer. 

It  is  evident,  therefore,  simply  from  the  consideration  of 
the  state  of  the  human  mind  at  this  period,  and  of  the  power 
which  then,  governed  it,  that  the    Reformation   must  have 


226  GENERAL    HISTORY    OF 

been,  I  repeat  it,  a  sudden  effort  made  by  the  human  mind 
to  achieve  its  Hberty,  a  great  insurrection  of  human  inteUi- 
gence.  This,  doubtless,  was  the  leading  cause  of  the  Refor- 
mation, the  cause  which  soared  above  all  the  rest;  a  cause 
superior  to  every  interest  either  of  sovereigns  or  of  nations, 
superior  to  the  need  of  reform  properly  so  called,  or  of  the 
redress  of  the  grievances  which  were  complained  of  at  this 
period. 

Let  us  suppose,  that  after  the  first  years  of  the  Reforma- 
tion had  passed  away,  when  it  had  made  all  its  demands, 
and  insisted  on  all  its  grievances — let  us  suppose,  I  say,  that 
the  spiritual  power  had  conceded  everything,  and  said, 
"  Well,  be  it  so;  I  will  make  every  reform  you  desire;  I  will 
return  to  a  more  legal,  more  truly  religious  order  of  affairs. 
I  will  suppress  arbitrary  exactions  and  tributes;  even  in  mat- 
ters of  belief  I  will  modify  my  doctrines,  and  return  to  the 
primitive  standard  of  Christian  faith.  But,  having  thus  re- 
dressed all  your  grievances,  I  must  preserve  my  station,  and 
retain,  as  formerly,  the  government  of  the  human  mind,  with 
all  the  powers  and  all  the  rights  which  I  have  hitherto  en- 
joyed." Can  we  believe  that  the  religious  revolution  would 
have  been  satisfied  with  these  concessions,  and  would  have 
stopped  short  in  its  course?  I  cannot  think  so;  I  firmly 
believe  that  it  would  have  continued  its  career,  and  that 
after  having  obtained  reform,  it  would  have  demanded  lib- 
erty. The  crisis  of  the  sixteenth  century  was  not  merely  of 
a  reforming  character;  it  was  essentially  revolutionary.  It 
cannot  be  deprived  of  this  character,  with  all  the  good  and 
evil  that  belongs  to  it;  its  nature  may  be  traced  in  its  effects. 

Let  us  take  a  glance  at  the  destinies  of  the  Reformation; 
let  us  see,  more  particularly,  what  it  has  produced  in  the 
different  countries  in  which  it  developed  itself.  It  can  hardly 
escape  observation  that  it  exhibited  itself  in  very  different 
situations,  and  with  very  different  chances  of  success;  if 
then  we  find  that,  notwithstanding  this  diversity  of  situations 
and  chances,  it  has  alwayspursued  a  certain  object,  obtained 
a  certain  result,  and  preserved  a  certain  character,  it  must 
be  evident  that  this  character,  which  has  surmounted  all  the 
diversities  of  situation,  all  the  inequalities  of  chance,  must 
be  the  fundamental  character  of  the  event;  and  that  thfe 
result  must  be  the  essential  object  of  its  pursuit. 

Well,  then,  wherever  the  religious  revolution  of  the  six- 
teenth century  prevailed,  if  it  did  not  accomplish  a  complete 


CIVILIZATION    IN    MODERN    EUROPE.  227 

emancipation  of  the  human  mind,  it  procured  it  a  new  and 
gx^^X.  increase  of  liberty.  It  doubtless  left  the  mind  subject 
to  all  the  chances  of  liberty  or  thraldom  which  might  arise 
from  political  institutions;  but  it  abolished  or  disarmed  the 
spiritual  power,  the  systematic  and  formidable  government 
of  the  mind.  This  was  the  result  obtained  by  the  Reforma- 
tion, notwithstanding  the  infinite  diversity  of  circumstances 
under  which  it  took  place.  In  Germany  there  was  no  politi- 
cal liberty;  the  Reformation  did  not  introduce  it;  it  rather 
strengthened  than  enfeebled  the  power  of  princes;  it  was 
rather  opposed  to  the  free  institutions  of  the  middle  ages 
than  favorable  to  their  progress.  Still,  in  spite  of  this,  it 
excited  and  maintained  in  Germany  a  greater  freedom  of 
thought,  probably,  than  in  any  other  country.  In  Denmark 
too,  a  country  in  which  absolute  power  predominated  in  the 
municipal  institutions,  as  well  as  the  general  institutions  of 
the  state,  thought  was  emancipated  through  the  influence  of 
the  Reformation,  and  freely  exercised  on  every  subject.  In 
Holland,  under  a  republic;  in  England,  under  a  constitu- 
tional monarchy,  and  in  spite  of  a  religious  tyranny  which 
was  long  very  severe,  the  emancipation  of  the  human  mind 
was  accomplished  by  the  same  influence.  And  lastly,  in 
France,  which  seemed  from  its  situation  the  least  likely  of 
any  to  be  affected  by  this  religious  revolution,  even  in  this 
country,  where  it  was  actually  overcome,  it  became  a  prin- 
ciple of  mental  independence,  of  intellectual  freedom.  Till 
the  year  1685,  that  is,  till  the  revocation  of  the  edict  of 
Nantes,  the  Reformation  enjoyed  a  legal  existence  in  France. 
During  this  long  space  of  time,  the  reformers  wrote,  dis- 
puted, and  provoked  their  adversaries  to  write  and  dispute 
with  them.  This  single  fact,  this  war  of  tracts  and  disputa- 
tions between  the  old  and  new  opinions,  diffused  in  France 
a  greater  degree  of  real  and  active  liberty  than  is  commonly 
believed;  a  liberty  which  redounded  to  the  advantage  of 
science  and  morality,  to  the  honor  of  the  French  clergy,  and 
to  the  benefit  of  the  mind  in  general.  Look  at  the  con- 
ferences of  Rossuet  with  Claude,  and  at  all  the  religious 
controversy  of  that  period,  and  ask  yourselves  if  Louis  XIV. 
would  have  permitted  a  similar  degree  of  freedom  on  any 
other  subject.  It  was  between  the  reformers  and  the  oppo- 
site party  that  the  greatest  freedom  of  opinion  existed  in  the 
seventeenth  century.  Religious  questions  were  treated  in  a 
bolder  and  freer  spirit  of  speculation  than  political,  even  by 
Fenelon  himself  in  his  Telemachus.  This  state  of  things 
lasted  till  the  revocation  of  the  edict  of  Nantes.     Now,  from 


228  GENERAL    HISTORY    OF 

the  year  1685  to  the  explosion  of  the  human  mind  in  the 
eighteenth  century,  there  was  not  an  interval  of  forty  years; 
and  the  influence  of  the  religious  revolution  in  favor  of  in- 
tellectual liberty  had  scarcely  ceased  when  the  influence  of 
the  revolution  in  philosophy  began  to  operate. 

You  see,  then,  that  wherever  the  Reformation  pene- 
trated, wherever  it  acted  an  important  part,  whether  con- 
queror or  conquered,  its  general,  leading,  and  constant 
result  was  an  immense  progress  in  mental  activity  and  free- 
dom; an  immense  step  toward  the  emancipation  of  the 
human  mind. 

Again,  not  only  was  this  the  result  of  the  Reformation, 
but  //  luas  content  with  this  result.  Wherever  this  was  ob- 
tained, no  other  was  sought  for;  so  entirely  was  it  the  very 
foundation  of  the  event,  its  primitive  and  fundamental 
character!  Thus,  in  Germany,  far  from  demanding  political 
liberty,  the  Reformation  accepted,  I  shall  not  say  servitude, 
but  the  absence  of  liberty.  In  England,  it  consented  to  the 
hierarchical  constitution  of  the  clergy,  and  to  the  existence 
of  a  Church,  as  full  of  abuses  as  ever  the  Romish  Church 
had  been,  and  much  more  servile.  Why  did  the  Reforma- 
tion, so  ardent  and  rigid  in  certain  respects,  exhibit,  in  these 
instances,  so  much  facility  and  suppleness?  Because  it  had 
obtained  the  general  result  to  which  it  tended,  the  abolition 
of  the  spiritual  power,  and  the  emancipation  of  the  human 
mind.  I  repeat  it;  wherever  the  Reformation  attained  this 
object,  it  accommodated  itself  to  every  form  of  government, 
and  to  every  situation. 

Let  us  now  test  this  fact  by  the  opposite  mode  of  proof; 
let  us  see  what  happened  in  those  countries  into  which  the 
Reformation  did  not  penetrate,  or  in  which  it  was  early  sup- 
pressed. We  learn  from  history  that,  in  those  countries,  the 
human  mind  was  not  emancipated;  witness  two  great  coun- 
tries, Spain  and  Italy.  While,  in  those  parts  of  Europe  into 
which  the  Reformation  very  largely  entered,  the  human 
mind,  during  the  last  three  centuries,  has  acquired  an  ac- 
tivity and  freedom  previously  unknown; — in  those  other 
parts,  into  which  it  was  never  allowed  to  make  its  way,  the 
mind,  during  the  same  period,  has  become  languid  and  in- 
ert: so  that  opposite  sets  of  facts,  which  happened  at  the 
same  time,  concur  in  establishing  the  same  result. 

The  impulse  which  was  given  to  human  thought,  and  the 


CIVILIZATION    IN    MODERN    EUROPE.  229 

b«4itIon  of  absolute  power  in  the  spiritual  order,  constituted, 
V».^~Vt^e  essential  character  of  the  Reformation,  the  most 
genera^lesult  of  its  influence,  the  ruling  fact  in  its  destiny. 

I  use  the  word  fact,  and  I  do  so  on  purpose.  The  eman- 
cipation of  the  human  mind,  in  the  course  of  the  Reforma- 
tion, was  a  fact  rather  than  a  principle,  a  result  rather  than 
an  intention.  The  Reformation,  I  believe,  has  in  this  respect, 
performed  more  than  it  undertook — more,  probably,  than  it 
desired.  Contrary  to  what  has  happened  in  many  other 
revolutions,  the  effects  of  which  have  not  come  up  to  their 
design,  the  consequences  of  the  Reformation  have  gone 
beyond  the  object  it  had  in  view;  it  is  greater,  considered 
as  an  event,  than  as  a  system;  it  has  never  completely  known 
all  that  it  has  done,  nor,  if  it  had,  would  it  have  completely 
avowed  it. 

What  are  the  reproaches  constantly  applied  to  the  Refor- 
mation by  its  enemies?  which  of  its  results  are  thrown  in  its 
face,  as  it  were,  as  unanswerable? 

The  two  principal  reproaches  are,  first,  the  multiplicity  of 
sects,  the  excessive  license  of  thought,  the  destruction  of  all 
spiritual  authority,  and  the  entire  dissolution  of  religious 
society:  secondly,  tyranny  and  persecution.  "  You  provoke 
licentiousness,"  it  has  been  said  to  the  Reformers;  "you 
produced  it;  and,  after  having  been  the  cause  of  it,  you  wish 
to  restrain  and  repress  it.  And  how  do  you  repress  it?  By 
the  most  harsh  and  violent  means.  You  take  upon  your- 
selves, too,  to  punish  heresy,  and  that  by  virtue  of  an  illegiti- 
mate authority." 

If  we  take  a  review  of  all  the  principal  charges  which 
have  been  made  against  the  Reformation,  we  shall  find,  if  we 
set  aside  all  questions  purely  doctrinal,  that  the  above  are  the 
two  fundamental  reproaches  to  which  they  may  all  be  reduced . 

These  charges  gave  great  embarrassment  to  the  reform 
party.  When  they  were  taxed  with  the  multiplicity  of  their 
sects,  instead  of  advocating  the  freedom  of  religious  opinion, 
and  maintaining  the  right  of  every  sect  to  entire  toleration, 
they  denounced  sectarianism,  lamented  it,  and  endeavored 
to  find  excuses  for  its  existence.  Were  they  accused  of  per- 
secution? They  were  troubled  to  defend  themselves;  they 
used  the  plea  of  necessity;  they  had,  they  said,  the  right  to 
repress  and  punish  error,  because  they  were  in  possession  of 
the  truth.  Their  articles  of  belief,  they  contended,  and 
their  institutions,  were  the  only  legitimate  ones;  and  if  the 
Church  of  Rome  had  not  the  right  to  punish  the  reformed 


230  GENERAL    HISTORY    Of 

party,  it  was  because  she  was  in  the  wrong  and  they  in  the 
right. 

And  when  the  charge  of  persecution  was  applied  to  the 
ruling  party  in  the  Reformation,  not  by  its  enemies,  but  by 
its  own  offspring;  when  the  sects  denounced  by  that  party 
said,  "  We  are  doing  just  what  you  did;  we  separate  our- 
selves from  you,  just  as  you  separated  yourselves  from  the 
Church  of  Rome,"  this  ruling  party  were  still  more  at  a  loss 
to  find  an  answer,  and  frequently  the  only  answer  they  had 
to  give  was  an  increase  of  severity. 

The  truth  is,  that  while  laboring  for  the  destruction  of 
absolute  power  in  the  spiritual  order,  the  religious  revolution 
of  the  sixteenth  century  was  not  aware  of  the  true  principles 
of  intellectual  liberty.  It  emancipated  the  human  mind,  and 
yet  pretended  still  to  govern  it  by  laws.  In  point  of  fact,  it 
produced  the  prevalence  of  free  inquiry;  in  point  oi pri7iciple 
it  believed  that  it  was  substituting  a  legitimate  for  an  illegi- 
timate power.  It  had  not  looked  up  to  the  primary  motive, 
nor  down  to  the  ultimate  consequences  of  its  own  work.  It 
thus  fell  into  a  double  error.  On  the  one  side  it  did  not 
know  or  respect  all  the  rights  of  human  thought;  at  the  very 
moment  that  it  was  demanding  these  rights  for  itself,  it  was 
violating  them  toward  others.  On  the  other  side,  it  was 
unable  to  estimate  the  rights  of  authority  in  matters  of 
reason.  I  do  not  speak  of  that  coercive  authority  which 
ought  to  have  no  rights  at  all  in  such  matters,  but  of  that 
kind  of  authority  which  is  purely  moral,  and  acts  solely  by 
its  influence  upon  the  mind.  In  most  reformed  countries 
something  is  wanting  to  complete  the  proper  organization  of 
intellectual  society,  and  to  the  regular  action  of  old  and 
general  opinions.  What  is  due  to  and  required  by  traditional 
belief,  has  not  been  reconciled  with  what  is  due  to  and 
required  by  freedom  of  thinking;  and  the  cause  of  this  un- 
doubtedly is,  that  the  Reformation  did  not  fully  comprehend 
and  accept  its  own  principles  and  effects. 

Hence,  too,  the  Reformation  acquired  an  appearance  of 
inconsistency  and  narrowness  of  mind,  which  has  often  given 
an  advantage  to  its  enemies.  They  knew  very  well  what 
they  were  about,  and  what  they  wanted;  they  cited  the  prin- 
ciples of  their  conduct  without  scruple,  and  avowed  all  its 
consequences.  There  never  was  a  government  more  consis- 
tent and  systematic  than  that  of  the  Church  of  Rome.  In 
point  of  fact,  the  Court  of  Rome  made  more  compromises 
and  concessions  than  the  Reformation;  in  point  oi  principle ^ 


CIVILIZATION    IN    MODERN    EUROPE.  i^l 

it  adhered  much  more  closely  to  its  system,  and  maintained  a 
more  consistent  line  of  conduct.  Great  strength  is  gained 
by  a  thorough  knowledge  of  the  nature  of  one's  own  views 
and  actions,  by  a  complete  and  rational  adoption  of  a  certain 
principle  and  design:  and  a  striking  example  of  this  is  to  be 
found  in  the  course  of  the  religious  revolution  of  the  six- 
teenth century.  Everybody  knows  that  the  principal  power 
instituted  to  contend  against  the  Reformation  was  the  order 
of  the  Jesuits.  Look  for  a  moment  at  their  history;  they 
failed  everywhere;  wherever  they  interfered,  to  any  extent, 
they  brought  misfortune  upon  the  cause  in  which  they  med- 
dled; in  England  they  ruined  kings;  in  Spain,  whole  masses 
of  the  people.  The  general  course  of  events,  the  develop- 
ment of  modern  civilization,  the  freedom  of  the  human  mind, 
all  these  forces  with  which  the  Jesuits  were  called  upon  to 
contend,  rose  up  against  them  and  overcame  them.  And 
not  only  did  they  fail,  but  you  must  remember  what  sort  of 
means  they  were  constrained  to  employ.  There  was  nothing 
great  or  splendid  in  what  they  did;  they  produced  no  strik- 
ing events,  they  did  not  put  in  motion  powerful  masses  of 
men.  They  proceeded  by  dark  and  hidden  courses;  courses 
by  no  means  calculated  to  strike  the  imagination,  or  to  con- 
ciliate that  public  interest  which  always  attaches  itself  to 
great  things,  whatever  may  be  their  principle  and  object. 
The  party  opposed  to  them,  on  the  contrary,  not  only  over- 
came, but  overcame  signally;  did  great  things  and  by  great 
means;  overspread  Europe  with  great  men;  changed,  in 
open  day,  the  condition  and  form  of  states.  Everything,  in 
short,  was  against  the  Jesuits,  both  fortune  and  appearances; 
reason,  which  desires  success — and  imagination,  which  re- 
quires /daf — were  alike  disappointed  by  their  fate.  Still, 
however,  they  were  undoubtedly  possessed  of  grandeur; 
great  ideas  are  attached  to  their  name,  their  influence,  and 
their  history.  The  reason  is,  that  they  knew  what  they  did; 
and  what  they  wished  to  accomplish;  that  they  were  fully 
and  clearly  aware  of  the  principles  upon  which  they  acted, 
and  of  the  object  which  they  had  in  view.  They  possessed 
grandeur  of  thought  and  of  will;  and  it  was  this  that  saved 
them  from  the  ridicule  which  attends  constant  reverses,  and 
the  use  of  paltry  means.  Wherever,  on  the  contrary,  the 
event  has  been  greater  than  the  design,  wherever  there  is  an 
appearance  of  ignorance  of  the  first  principles  and  ultimate 
results  of  an  action,  there  has  always  remained  a  degree  of 
incompleteness,  inconsistency,  and  narrowness  of  view,  which 
has  placed  the  very  victors  in  a  state  of  rational  or  philo« 


232  GENERAL    HISTORY    OF 

sophical  inferiority,  the  influence  of  which  has  sometimes 
been  apparent  in  the  course  of  events.  This,  I  think,  in  the 
struggle  between  the  old  and  the  new  order  of  things,  in 
matters  of  religion,  was  the  weak  side  of  the  Reformation, 
which  often  embarrassed  its  situation,  and  prevented  it  from 
defending  itself  so  well  as  it  had  a  right  to  do. 

I  might  consider  the  religious  revolutions  of  the  sixteenth 
century  under  many  other  aspects.  I  have  said  nothing, 
and  have  nothing  to  say,  respecting  it  as  a  matter  of  doctrine 
— respecting  its  effect  on  religion-s,  properly  so  called,  or  re- 
specting the  relations  of  the  human  soul  with  God  and  an 
eternal  futurity;  but  I  might  exhibit  it  in  its  various  relations 
with  social  order,  everywhere  producing  results  of  immense 
importance.  For  example,  it  introduced  religion  into  the 
midst  of  the  laity,  into  the  world,  so  to  speak,  of  believers. 
Till  then,  religion  had  been  the  exclusive  domain  of  the 
ecclesiastical  order.  The  clergy  distributed  the  proceeds, 
but  reserved  to  themselves  the  disposal  of  the  capital,  and 
almost  the  exclusive  right  even  to  speak  of  it.  The  Refor- 
mation again  threw  matters  of  religious  belief  into  general 
circulation,  and  again  opened  to  believers  the  field  of  faith 
into  which  they  had  not  been  permitted  to  enter.  It  had, 
at  the  same  time,  a  further  result;  it  banished,  or  nearly  so, 
religion  from  politics,  and  restored  the  independence  of  the 
temporal  power.  At  the  same  moment  that  religion  returned 
into  the  possession  of  believers,  it  quitted  the  government  of 
society.  In  the  reformed  countries,  in  spite  of  the  diver- 
sities of  ecclesiastical  constitutions,  even  in  England,  whose 
constitution  is  most  nearly  akin  to  the  old  order  of  things, 
the  spiritual  power  has  no  longer  any  serious  pretensions  to 
the  government  of  the  temporal  power. 

I  might  enumerate  many  other  consequences  of  the 
Reformation,  but  I  must  limit  myself  to  the  above  general 
views;  and  I  am  satisfied  with  having  placed  before  you  its 
principal  feature — the  emancipation  of  the  human  mind,  and 
the  abolition  of  absolute  power  in  the  spiritual  order;  an 
abolition  which,  though,  undoubtedly  not  complete,  is  yet 
the  greatest  step  which,  down  to  our  own  times,  has  ever 
been  made  toward  the  attainment  of  that  object. 

Before  concluding,  I  pray  you  to  remark,  what  a  striking 
resemblance  of  destiny  there  is  to  be  found,  in  the  history 
of  modern  Europe,  between  civil  and  religious  society,  in  the 
revolutions  they  have  had  to  undergo. 


Civilization  in  modern  Europe.  2^^ 

Christian  society,  as  we  have  seen  when  I  spoke  of  the 
Church,  was,  at  first,  a  state  of  society  perfectly  free,  fofmed 
entirely  in  the  name  of  a  common  belief,  without  institutions 
or  government,  properly  so  called;  regulated,  solely,  by 
moral  and  variable  powers,  according  to  the  exigencies  of 
the  moment.  Civil  society  began,  in  like  manner,  in  Europe, 
partly,  at  least,  by  bands  of  barbarians;  it  was  a  state  of 
society  perfectly  free,  in  which  every  one  remained,  because 
he  wished  to  do  so,  without  laws  or  powers  created  by  insti- 
tutions. In  emerging  from  that  state  which  was  inconsistent 
with  any  great  social  development,  religious  society  placed 
itself  under  a  government  essentially  aristocratic;  its  gover- 
nors were  the  clergy,  the  bishops,  the  councils,  the  ecclesias- 
tical aristocracy.  A  fact  of  the  same  kind  took  place  in  civil 
society  when  it  emerged  from  barbarism;  it  was,  in  like 
manner,  the  aristocracy,  the  feudalism  of  the  laity,  which 
laid  hold  of  the  power  of  government.  Religious  society 
quitted  the  aristocratic  form  of  government  to  assume  that 
of  pure  monarchy;  this  was  the  rationale  of  the  triumph  of 
the  Court  of  Rome  over  the  councils  and  the  ecclesiastical 
aristocracy  of  Europe.  The  same  revolution  was  accom- 
plished in  civil  society;  it  was,  in  like  manner,  by  the 
destrtuction  of  the  aristocratic  power,  that  monarchy  pre- 
vailed, and  took  possession  of  the  European  world.  In  the 
sixteenth  century,  in  the  heart  of  religious  society,  an  insur- 
rection broke  out  against  the  system  of  pure  ecclesiastical 
monarchy,  against  absolute  power  in  the  spiritual  order. 
This  revolution  produced,  sanctioned,  and  established  free- 
dom of  inquiry  in  Europe.  In  our  own  time  we  have  wit- 
nessed a  similar  event  in  civil  society.  Absolute  temporal 
power,  in  like  manner,  was  attacked  and  overcome.  You 
see,  then,  that  the  two  orders  of  society  have  undergone  the 
same  vicissitudes  and  revolutions;  only  religious  society  has 
always  been  the  foremost  in  this  career. 

We  are  now  in  possession  of  one  of  the  greatest  facts  in 
the  history  of  modern  society — freedom  of  inquiry,  the  lib- 
erty of  the  human  mind.  We  see,  at  the  same  time,  the 
almost  universal  prevalence  of  political  centralization.  In 
my  next  lecture  I  shall  consider  the  revolution  in  England; 
the  event  in  which  freedom  of  inquiry  and  a  pure  monarchy, 
both  results  of  the  progress  of  civilization,  came,  for  the  first 
time,  into  collision. 


LECTURE   XIII. 

THE    ENGLISH    REVOLUTION. 

We  have  seen,  that  during  the  course  of  the  sixteenth 
century,  all  the  elements,  all  the  facts,  of  ancient  European 
society  had  merged  in  two  essential  facts,  the  right  of  free 
examination,  and  centralization  of  power;  one  prevailing  in 
religious  society,  the  other  in  civil  society.  The  emancipa- 
tion of  the  human  mind  and  absolute  monarchy  triumphed 
at  the  same  moment  over  Europe  in  general. 

It  could  hardly  be  conceived  that  a  struggle  between 
these  two  facts — the  characters  of  which  appear  so  contra- 
dictory— would  not,  at  some  time,  break  out;  for  while  one 
was  the  defeat  of  absolute  power  in  the  spiritual  order,  the 
other  was  the  triumph  of  absolute  power  in  the  temporal 
order;  one  forced  on  the  decline  of  the  ancient  ecclesiastical 
monarchy,  the  other  was  the  consummation  of  the  ruin  of 
the  ancient  feudal  and  municipal  liberty.  Their  simultane- 
ous appearance  was  owing-,  as  I  have  already  observed,  to 
the  circumstance  that  the  revolutions  of  the  religious  society 
followed  more  rapidly  than  those  of  the  civil;  one  had  ar- 
rived at  the  point  in  which  the  freedom  of  individual  thought 
was  secured,  while  the  other  still  lingered  on  the  spot  where 
the  concentration  of  all  the  powers  in  one  general  power 
took  place.  The  coincidence  of  these  two  facts,  so  far  from 
being  the  consequence  of  their  similitude  did,  not  even  pre- 
vent their  contradiction.  They  were  both  advances  in  the 
march  of  civilization,  but  they  were  advances  connected  with 
different  situations;  advances  of  a  different  moral  date,  if  I 
may  be  allowed  the  expression,  although  coincident  in  time. 
From  their  position  it  seemed  inevitable  that  they  must  clash 
and  combat  before  a  reconciliation  could  be  effected  between 
them. 

The  first  shock  between  them  took  place  in  England. 
The  struggle  of  the  right  of  free  inquiry,  the  fruit  of  the  Re- 
formation, against  the  entire  suppression  of  political  liberty, 
the  object  aimed  at  by  pure  monarchy — the  attempt  to  abol- 
ish  absolute   power   in  the  temporal   order,  as  had   already 


CIVILIZATION    IN    MODERN    EUROPE.  235 

been  done  in  the  spiritual  order — this  is  the  true  sense  of 
the  Enghsh  revolution;  this  is  the  part  it  took  in  the  work 
of  civilization. 

But  how,  it  may  be  asked,  came  it  to  pass,  that  this 
struggle  took  place  in  England  sooner  than  anywhere  else? 
How  happened  it  that  the  revolutions  of  a  political  character 
coincided  here  with  those  of  a  moral  character  sooner  than 
they  did  on  the  Continent? 

In  England,  the  royal  power  had  undergone  the  same 
vicissitudes  as  it  had  on  the  Continent.  Under  the  Tudors 
it  had  reached  a  degree  of  concentraton  and  vigor  which  it 
had  never  attained  to  before.  1  do  not  mean  to  say  that  the 
practical  despotism  of  the  Tudors  was  more  violent  and  vexa- 
tious than  that  of  their  predecessors;  there  were  quite  as 
many,  perhaps  more,  tyrannical  proceedings,  vexations,  and 
acts  of  injustice,  under  the  Plantagenets,  as  under  the 
Tudors.  Perhaps,  too,  at  this  very  period  the  very  govern- 
ment of  pure  monarchy  was  more  severe  and  arbitrary  on  the 
Continent  than  in  England.  The  new  fact  under  the  Tudors 
was,  that  absolute  power  became  systematic;  royalty  laid 
claim  to  a  primitive,  independent  sovereignty;  it  held  a  lan- 
guage which  it  had  never  held  before.  The  theocratic 
claims  of  Henry  VIH.,  Elizabeth,  James  I.,  and  Charles  I., 
are  very  different  from  those  of  Edward  I.  and  III.,  al- 
though, in  point  of  fact,  the  power  of  the  two  latter  mon- 
archs  was  nowise  less  arbitrary  or  extensive.  I  repeat,  then, 
it  was  the  principle,  the  rational  system  of  monarchy,  which 
changed  in  England,  in  the  sixteenth  century,  rather  than 
its  practical  power;  royalty  now  declared  itself  absolute  and 
superior  to  all  laws,  even  to  those  which  it  declared  itself 
willing  to  respect. 

There  is  another  point  to  be  considered;  the  religious 
revolution  had  not  been  accomplished  in  England  in  the 
same  way  as  on  the  Continent;  it  was  here  the  work  of  the 
monarchs  themselves.  It  must  not  be  supposed  that  the 
seftls  had  not  been  sown,  or  that  even  attempts  had  not  been 
made  at  a  popular  reform,  or  that  one  would  not  probably 
have  soon  broken  out.  But  Henry  VIII.  took  the  lead; 
power  became  revolutionary;  and  hence  it  happened,  at  least 
in  its  origin,  that,  as  a  redress  of  ecclesiastical  abuses,  as 
an  emancipation  of  the  human  mind,  the  reform  in  England 
was  much  less  complete  than  upon  the  Continent.  It  was 
made,  as  might  naturally  be  expected,  in  accordance  with  the 


236  GENERAL    HISTORY    OF 

interests  of  its  authors.  The  king  and  the  episcopacy,  which 
was  here  continued,  divided  between  themselves  the  riches 
and  the  power,  of  which  they  despoiled  their  predecessors, 
the  popes.  The  effect  of  this  was  soon  felt.  The  Reforma- 
tion, people  cried  out,  had  been  closed  while  the  greater  part 
of  the  abuses  which  had  induced  them  to  desire  it,  were  still 
continued. 

The  Reformation  reappeared  under  a  more  popular  form; 
it  made  the  same  demands  of  the  bishops  that  had  already 
been  made  of  the  Holy  See;  it  accused  them  of  being  so 
many  popes.  As  often  as  the  general  fate  of  the  religious 
revolution  was  compromised;  whenever  a  struggle  against 
the  ancient  Church  took  place,  the  various  portions  of  the 
Reformation  party  rallied  together,  and  made  common  cause 
against  the  common  enemy;  but  this  danger  over,  the  strug- 
gle again  broke  out  among  themselves;  the  popular  reform 
again  attacked  the  aristocracy  and  royal  reform,  denounced 
its  abuses,  complained  of  its  tyranny,  called  upon  it  to  make 
good  its  promises,  and  not  to  usurp  itself  the  power  which 
it  had  just  dethroned. 

Much  about  the  same  time  a  movement  for  liberty  took 
place  in  civil  society;  a  desire  before  unknown,  or  at  least 
but  weakly  expressed,  was  now  felt  for  political  freedom.  In 
the  course  of  the  sixteenth  century,  the  commercial  pros- 
perity of  England  had  increased  with  amazing  rapidity,  while 
during  the  same  time,  much  territorial  wealth,  much  baronial 
property,  had  changed  hands.  The  numerous  divisions  of 
landed  property,  which  took  place  during  the  sixteenth  cen- 
tury, in  consequence  of  the  ruin  of  the  feudal  nobility,  and 
from  various  other  causes  which  I  cannot  now  stop  to  enu- 
merate, form  a  fact  which  has  not  been  sufficiently  noticed. 
A  variety  of  documents  prove  how  greatly  the  number  of 
landed  properties  increased;  the  estates  going  generally  into 
the  hands  of  the  gentry,  com.posed  of  the  lesser  nobility,  and 
persons  who  had  acquired  property  by  trade.  The  high 
nobility,  the  House  of  Lords,  did  not,  at  the  beginning  of 
the  seventeenth  century,  nearly  equal,  in  riches,  the  Hotsc 
of  Commons.  There  had  taken  place,  then,  at  the  same 
time  in  England,  a  great  increase  in  wealth  among  the  in- 
dustrious classes,  and  a  great  change  in  landed  property. 
While  these  two  facts  were  being  accomplished,  there  hap- 
pened a  third;  a  new  march  of  mind. 

The  reign  of  Queen  Elizabeth  must  be  regarded  as  a 
period  of  great  literary  and   philosophical   activity  in   Eng- 


CIVILIZATION    IN    MODERN    EUROPE.  237 

land,  a  period  remarkable  for  bold  and  pregnant  thought; 
the  Puritans  followed,  without  hesitation,  all  the  consequen- 
ces of  a  narrow,  but  powerful  creed;  other  intellects,  with 
less  morality,  but  more  freedom  and  boldness,  alike  regard- 
less of  principle  or  system,  seized  with  avidity  upon  every 
idea,  which  seemed  to  promise  some  gratification  to  their 
curiosity,  some  food  for  their  mental  ardor.  And  it  may  be 
regarded  as  a  maxim,  that  wherever  the  progress  of  intelli- 
gence is  a  true  pleasure,  a  desire  for  liberty  is  soon  felt,  nor 
is  it  long  in  passing  from  the  public  mind  to  the  state. 

A  feeling  of  the  same  kind,  a  sort  of  creeping  desire  for 
political  liberty,  almost  manifested  itself  in  some  of  the 
countries  on  the  Continent  in  which  the  Reformation  had 
made  some  way;  but  these  countries,  being  without  the 
means  of  success,  made  no  progress;  they  knew  not  how  to 
make  their  desire  felt;  they  could  find  no  support  for  it  either 
in  institutions,  or  in  the  habits  and  usages  of  the  people; 
hence  this  desire  remained  vague,^  uncertain,  and  sought  in 
vain  for  the  means  of  satisfying  its  cravings.  In  England  the 
case  was  widely  different:  the  spirit  of  political  liberty  which 
showed  itself  here  in  the  sixteenth  century,  as  a  sort  of 
appendix  to  the  Reformation,  found  both  a  firm  support  and 
the  means  of  speaking  and  acting  in  the  ancient  institutions 
of  the  country,  and  indeed  the  whole  frame-work  of  English 
society. 

There  is  hardly  any  one  w^ho  does  not  know  the  origin 
of  the  free  institutions  of  England.  How,  in  12 15,  a  coali- 
tion of  the  great  barons  wrested  Magna  Charta  from  John; 
but  it  is  not  quite  so  generally  known,  that  this  charter 
was  renewed  and  confirmed,  from  time  to  time,  by  almost 
every  king.  It  was  confirmed  upward  of  thirty  times  between 
the  thirteenth  and  sixteenth  centuries,  besides  which  new 
statutes  were  passed  to  confirm  and  extend  its  enactments. 
Thus  it  lived,  as  it  were,  without  gap  or  interval.  In  the 
meantime  the  House  of  Commons  had  been  formed,  and 
taken  its  place  among  the  sovereign  institutions  of  the  coun- 
try. Under  the  Plantagenets  it  had  taken  deep  root  and 
became  firmly  established;  not  that  at  this  time  it  played 
any  great  part,  or  had  even  much  influence  in  the  govern- 
ment; it  scarcely  indeed  interfered  in  this  except  when  called 
upon  to  do  so  by  the  king,  and  then  only  with  hesitation 
and  regret;  afraid  rather  of  bringing  itself  into  trouble  and 
danger,  than  jealous  of  augmenting  its  powxr  and  authority 
But  the  case  was  different  when  it  was  called  upon  to  defend 
private  rights,  the  house  or  property  of  the  citizens,  or  in 


238  GENERAL    HISTORY    OF 

short  the  rights  and  privileges  of  individuals;  this  duty  the 
House  of  Commons  performed  with  wonderful  energy  and 
perseverance,  putting  forward  and  establishing  all  those 
principles,  which  have  become  the  basis  of  the  English  con- 
stitution. Under  the  Tudors  the  House  of  Commons,  or 
rather  the  Parliament  altogether,  put  on  a  new  character. 
It  no  longer  defended  individual  liberty  so  well  as  under 
the  Plantagenets.  Arbitrary  detentions,  and  violations  of 
private  rights,  which  became  much  more  frequent,  were 
often  passed  in  silence.  But,  as  a  counterbalance  for  this, 
the  Parliament  interfered  to  a  much  greater  extent  than  for- 
merly in  the  general  affairs  of  government.  Henry  VHL, 
in  order  to  change  the  religion  of  the  country,  and  to  regu- 
late the  succession,  required  some  public  support,  some 
public  instrument,  and  he  had  recourse  to  Parliament,  and 
especially  to  the  House  of  Commons,  for  this  purpose. 
This,  which  under  the  Plantagenets  had  only  been  a  means 
of  resistance,  a  guarantee  of  private  right,  became  now, 
under  the  Tudors,  an  instrument  of  government,  of  general' 
policy;  so  that  at  the  end  of  the  sixteenth  century,  notwith- 
standing it  had  been  the  tool,  and  submitted  to  the  will  of 
nearly  all  sorts  of  tyrannies,  its  importance  had  greatly  in- 
creased; the  foundation  of  its  power  was  laid,  the  foundation 
of  that  power  upon  which  truly  rests  representative  govern- 
ment. 

In  taking  a  view,  then,  of  the  free  institutions  of  England 
at  the  end  of  the  sixteenth  century,  we  find  them  to  consist: 
first,  of  maxims — of  principles  of  liberty,  which  had  been 
constantly  acknowledged  in  written  documents,  and  of  which 
the  legislation  and  country  had  never  lost  sight;  secondly,  of 
precedents,  of  examples  of  liberty;  these,  it  is  true,  were 
mixed  with  a  great  number  of  precedents  and  examples  cf 
an  opposite  nature;  still  they  were  quite  sufficient  to  main- 
tain, to  give  a  legal  character  to  the  claims  of  the  friends  of 
liberty,  and  to  support  them  in  their  struggle  against  arbi- 
trary and  tyrannical  government;  thirdly,  particular  and 
local  institutions,  pregnant  with  the  seeds  of  liberty,  the 
jury,  the  right  of  holding  public  meetings,  of  bearing  arms, 
to  which  must  be  added  the  independence  of  municipal  ad 
ministration  and  jurisdiction;  fourthly  and  finally,  the  Parlia- 
ment and  its  authority  became  more  necessary  now  than 
ever  to  the  monarchs,  as  these  having  dilapidated  the 
greater  part  of  their  independent  revenues,  crown  domains, 
feudal  rights,  etc.,  could  not  support  even  the  expenses  of 


CIVILIZATION    IN    MODERN    EUROPE.  239 

their  households,  without  having  recourse  to  a  vote  of  Par- 
liament. 

The  political  state  of  England  then  was  very  different  to 
that  of  the  Continent;  notwithstanding  the  tyranny  of  the 
Tudors,  notwithstanding  the  systematic  triumph  of  absolute 
monarchy,  there  still  remained  here  a  firm  support  for  the 
new  spirit  of  liberty,  a  sure  means  by  which  it  could  act. 

At  this  epoch,  two  national  wants  were  felt  in  England: 
on  one  hand,  a  want  of  religious  liberty  and  of  a  continuation 
of  the  reformation  already  begun;  on  the  other,  a  want  of 
political  liberty,  which  seemed  arrested  by  the  absolute 
monarchy  now  establishing  its  power.  These  two  parties 
formed  an  alliance:  the  party  which  wished  to  carry  forward 
religious  reform,  invoked  political  liberty  to  the  aid  of  its 
faith  and  conscience  against  the  bishops  and  the  crown. 
The  friends  of  political  liberty,  in  like  manner,  sought  the 
aid  of  the  friends  of  popular  religious  reform.  The  two 
parties  joined  their  forces  to  struggle  against  absolute  power, 
both  spiritual  and  political,  now  concentrated  in  the  hands 
of  the  king.  Such  is  the  origin  and  signification  of  the  Eng- 
lish revolution. 

It  appears,  then,  to  have  been  essentially  devoted  to  the 
defence  or  conquest  of  liberty.  For  the  religious  party  it 
was  a  means,  for  the  political  party  it  was  an  end;  but  the 
object  of  both  was  still  liberty,  and  they  were  determined 
to  pursue  it  in  common.  Properly  speaking,  there  had  been 
no  true  quarrel  between  the  Episcopal  and  Puritan  party;  the 
struggle  was  not  about  doctrines,  about  matters  of  faith, 
properly  so  called.  I  do  not  mean  that  these  were  not  very 
positive,  very  important,  and  differences  of  great  conse- 
quence between  them;  but  this  was  not  the  main  affair. 
What  the  Puritan  party  wished  to  obtain  from  the  Episcopal 
was  practical  liberty;  this  was  the  object  for  which  it  strug- 
gled. It  must,  however,  be  admitted  that  there  did  exist  at 
the  same  time,  a  religious  party  which  had  a  system  to  found; 
a  set  of  doctrines,  a  form  of  discipline,  an  ecclesiastic  con- 
stitution, which  it  wished  to  establish — I  mean  the  Presby- 
terians; but  though  it  did  its  best,  it  had  not  the  power  to 
obtain  its  object.  Acting  upon  the  defensive,  oppressed  by 
the  bishops,  unable  to  take  a  step  without  the  sanction  of 
the  political  reformers,  its  necessary  allies  and  chieftains, 
liberty  naturally  became  its  predominant  interest;  this  was 
the  general  interest,  the  common  desire  of  all  the  parties 


240  GENERAL    HISTORY    OF 

which  concurred  in  the  movement,  however  different  in 
other  respects  might  be  their  views.  Taking  these  matters 
then  altogether,  we  must  come  to  the  conclusion,  that  the 
English  revolution  was  essentially  political;  it  was  accom- 
plished in  the  midst  of  a  religious  people  and  a  religious 
age;  religious  ideas  and  passions  often  became  its  instru- 
ments; but  its  primary  intention  and  its  definite  object  were 
decidedly  political,  a  tendency  to  liberty,  the  destruction  of 
all  absolute  power. 

I  shall  now  briefly  run  over  the  various  phases  of  this 
revolution,  and  analyze  it  into  the  great  parties  that  suc- 
ceeded one  another  in  its  course.  I  shall  afterward  connect 
it  with  the  general  career  of  European  civilization;  I  shall 
show  its  place  and  influence  therein;  and  you  will  be  satis- 
fied, from  the  detail  of  facts  as  well  as  from  its  first  aspect, 
that  it  was  truly  the  first  collision  of  free  inquiry  and  pure 
monarchy,  the  first  onset  that  took  place  in  the  struggle  be- 
tween these  two  great  and  opposite  powers. 

Three  principal  parties  appeared  upon  the  stage  at  this 
important  crisis;  three  revolutions  seem  to  have  been  con- 
tained within  it,  and  to  have  successively  appeared  upon  the 
scene  In  each  party,  in  each  revolution,  two  parties  moved 
together  in  alliance,  a  political  party  and  a  religious  party; 
the  former  took  the  lead,  the  second  followed,  but  one  could 
not  go  without  the  other,  so  that  a  double  character  seems 
to  be  imprinted  upon  it  in  all  its  changes. 

The  first  party  which  appeared  in  the  field,  and  under 
whose  banners  at  the  beginning  marched  all  the  others,  was 
the  high,  pure-monarchy  party,  advocating  legal  reform. 
When  the  revolution  began,  when  the  long  Parliament  assem- 
bled in  1640,  it  was  generally  said,  and  sincerely  believed  by 
many,  that  a  legal,  a  constitutional  reform  would  suffice; 
that  the  ancient  laws  and  practices  of  the  country  were 
sufficient  to  correct  every  abuse,  to  establish  a  system  of 
government  which  would  fully  meet  the  wishes  of  the  public. 

This  party  highly  blamed  and  earnestly  desired  to  put  a 
stop  to  illegal  imposts,  to  arbitrary  imprisonments — to  all 
acts,  indeed,  contrary  to  the  known  law  and  usages  of  the 
country.  But  under  these  ideas,  there  lay  hid,  as  it  were,  a 
belief  in  the  divine  right  of  the  king,  and  in  his  absolute 
power.  A  secret  instinct  seemed  to  warn  it  that  there  was 
something  false  and  dangerous  in  this  notion;  and  on  this. 


CIVILIZATION    IN    MODERN    EUROPE.  241 

account  It  appeared  always  desirous  to  avoid  the  subject. 
Forced,  however,  at  last  to  speak  out,  it  acknowledged  the 
divine  right  of  kings,  and  admitted  that  they  possessed  a 
power  superior  to  all  human  origin,  to  all  human  control; 
and  as  such  they  defended  it  in  time  of  need.  Still,  how- 
ever, they  believed  that  this  sovereignty,  though  absolute  in 
principle,  was  bound  to  exercise  its  authority  according  to 
certain  rules  and  forms;  that  it  could  not  go  beyond  certain 
limits;  and  thtit  these  rules,  these  forms,  and  these  limits 
were  sufficiently  established  and  guarantied  in  Magna  Charta, 
in  the  confirmative  statues,  in  the  ancient  laws  and  usages  of 
the  country.  Such  was  the  political  creed  of  this  party.  In 
religious  matters,  it  believed  that  the  episcopacy  had  greatly 
encroached;  that  the  bishops  possessed  far  too  much  political 
power;  that  their  jurisdiction  was  far  too  extensive,  that  it 
required  to  be  restrained,  and  its  proceedings  jealously 
watched.  Still  it  held  firmly  to  episcopacy,  not  merely  as  an 
ecclesiastical  institution,  not  merely  as  a  form  of  church 
government,  but  as  a  necessary  support  of  the  royal  preroga- 
tive, and  as  a  means  of  defending  and  maintaining  the 
supremacy  of  the  king  in  matters  of  religion.  The  absolute 
power  of  the  king  over  the  body  politic,  exercised  according 
to  the  forms  and  within  the  limits  legally  acknowledged;  the 
supremacy  of  the  king  as  head  of  the  Church,  applied  and 
sustained  by  the  episcopacy,  was  the  twofold  system  of  the 
legal  reform  party.  We  may  enumerate  as  its  chiefs.  Lord 
Clarendon,  Colepepper,  Capel,  and,  though  a  more  ardent 
friend  of  public  liberty,  Lord  Falkland;  and  into  their  ranks 
were  enlisted  nearly  all  the  nobility  and  gentry  not  servilely 
devoted  to  the  court. 

Behind  this  party  advanced  a  second,  which  I  shall  call 
the  political-revolutionary  party;  it  differed  from  the  fore- 
going, inasmuch  as  it  did  not  believe  the  ancient  guarantees, 
the  ancient  legal  barriers  sufficient  to  secure  the  rights  and 
liberties  of  the  people.  It  saw  that  a  great  change,  a  genuine 
revolution  was  wanting,  not  only  in  the  forms,  but  in  the 
spirit  and  essence  of  the  government;  that  it  was  necessary 
to  deprive  the  king  and  his  council  of  the  unlimited  power 
which  they  possessed,  and  to  place  the  preponderance  in  the 
House  of  Commons;  so  that  the  government  should,  in  fact, 
be  in  the  hands  of  this  assembly  and  its  leaders.  This  party 
made  no  such  open  and  systematic  profession  of  its  principles 
and  intentions  as  I  have  done;  but  this  was  the  real  character 
of  its  opinions,  and  of  its  political  tendencies.     Instead  of 


242  GENERAL    HISTORY    OF 

acknowledging  the  absolute  sovereignty  of  the  king,  it  con- 
tended for  the  sovereignty  of  the  House  of  Commons  as  the 
representatives  of  the  people.  Under  this  principle  was  hid 
that  of  the  sovereignty  of  the  people;  a  notion  which  the 
party  was  as  far  from  considering  in  its  full  extent,  as  it  was 
from  desiring  the  consequences  to  which  it  might  ultimately 
lead,  but  which  they  nevertheless  admitted  when  it  presented 
itself  to  them  in  the  form  of  the  sovereignty  of  the  House  of 
Commons. 

The  religious  party  most  closely  allied  to  this  political- 
revolutionary  one  was  that  of  the  Presbyterians.  This  sect 
wished  to  operate  much  the  same  revolution  in  the  Church 
as  their  allies  were  endeavoring  to  effect  in  the  state.  They 
desired  to  erect  a  system  of  church  government 'emanating 
from  the  people,  and  composed  of  a  series  of  assemblies 
dove-tailed,  as  it  were,  into  each  other;  and  thus  to  give  to 
their  national  assembly  the  same  authority  in  ecclesiastical 
matters  that  their  allies  wished  to  give  in  political  to  the 
House  of  Commons;  only  that  the  revolution  contemplated 
by  the  Presbyterians  was  more  complete  and  daring  than  the 
other,  forasmuch  as  it  aimed  at  changing  the  form  as  well  as 
the  principles  of  the  government  of  the  Church;  while  the 
views  of  the  political  party  went  no  farther  than  to  place  the 
influence,  the  preponderance,  in  the  body  of  the  people, 
without  meditating  any  great  alteration  in  the  form  of  their 
institutions. 

Hence  the  leaders  of  this  political  party  were  not  all 
favorable  to  the  Presbyterian  organization  of  the  Church. 
Hampden  and  Hollis,  as  well  as  some  others,  it  appears, 
would  have  given  the  preference  to  a  moderate  episcopacy, 
confined  strictly  to  ecclesiastical  functions,  with  a  greater  ex- 
tent of  liberty  of  conscience.  They  were  obliged,  however, 
to  give  way,  as  they  could  do  nothing  without  the  assistance 
of  their  fanatical  allies. 

The  third  party,  going  much  beyond  these  two,  declared 
that  a  change  was  required  not  only  in  the  form,  but  also  in 
the  foundation  of  the  government;  that  its  constitution  was 
radcially  vicious  and  bad.  This  party  paid  no  respect  to 
the  past  life  of  England;  it  renounced  her  institutions,  it 
swept  away  all  national  remembrances,  it  threw  down  the 
whole  fabric  of  English  government,  that  it  might  build  up 
another  founded  on  pure  theory,  or  at  least  one  that  existed 
only  in  its  own  fancy.  It  aimed  not  merely  at  a  revolution 
in  the  government,  but  at  a  complete  revolution  of  the  whole 


.    CIVILIZATION    IN    MODERN    EUROPE.  243 

social  system.  The  party  of  which  I  have  just  spoken,  the 
political-revolutionary  party,  proposed  to  make  a  great 
change  in  the  relations  in  which  the  Parliament  stood  with 
the  crown;  it  wished  to  extend  the  power  of  the  two  houses, 
particularly  of  the  commons,  by  giving  to  it  the  nomination 
of  the  great  officers  of  state,  and  the  supreme  direction  of 
affairs  in  general;  but  its  notions  of  reform  scarcely  went 
beyond  this.  It  had  no  idea,  for  example,  of  changing  the 
electoral  system,  the  judicial  system,  the  administrative  and 
municipal  systems  of  the  country.  The  republican  party 
contemplated  all  these  changes,  dwelt  upon  their  necessity, 
wished,  in  a  word,  to  reform  not  only  the  public  administra- 
tion, but  the  relations  of  society,  and  the  distribution  of 
private  rights. 

Like  the  two  preceding,  this  party  was  composed  of  a 
religious  sect,  and  a  political  sect.  Its  political  portion  were 
the  genuine  republicans,  the  theorists,  Ludlow,  Harrington, 
Milton,  etc.  To  these  may  be  added  the  republicans  of 
circumstance,  of  interest,  such  as  the  principal  officers  of 
the  army,  Ireton,  Cromwell,  Lambert,  etc.,  who  were  more 
or  less  sincere  at  the  begining  of  their  career,  but  were  soon 
controlled  and  guided  by  personal  motives  and  the  force  of 
circumstances.  Under  the  banners  of  this  party  marched 
the  religious  republcians,  all  those  religious  sects  which 
would  acknowledge  no  power  as  legitimate  but  that  of  Jesus 
Christ,  and  who,  awaiting  his  second  coming,  desired  only 
the  government  of  his  elect.  Finally,  in  the  train  of  this 
party  followed  a  mixed  assemblage  of  subordinate  free- 
thinkers, fanatics,  and  revellers,  some  hoping  for  license, 
some  for  an  equal  distribution  of  property,  and  others  for 
universal  suffrage. 

In  1653,  after  twelve  years  of  struggle,  all  these  parties 
had  successively  appeared  and  failed;  they  appear  at  least 
to  have  thought  so,  and  the  public  was  sure  of  it.  The  legal 
reform  party  quickly  disappeared:  it  saw  the  old  constitution 
and  laws  insulted,  trampled  under  foot,  and  innovations 
forcing  their  way  on  every  side.  The  political-revolutionary 
party  saw  the  destruction  of  parliamentary  forms  in  the  new 
use  which  it  was  proposed  to  make  them — -it  had  seen  the 
House  of  Commons  reduced,  by  the  successive  expulsions 
of  royalists  and  Presbyterians,  to  a  few  members,  despised, 
detested  by  the  public,  and  incapable  of  governing.  The 
republican  party  appeared  to  have  succeeded  better;  it 
seemed- to  be  left  master  of  the   field  and   of  power;  the 


244  GENERAL    HISTORY    OF 

House  of  Commons  consisted  of  but  fifty  or  sixty  members, 
all  republicans.  They  might  fancy  themselves,-  and  call 
themselves,  the  rulers  of  the  country;  but  the  country  re- 
jected their  government;  they  were  nowhere  obeyed;  they 
had  no  power  either  over  the  army  or  the  nation.  No  social 
bond,  no  social  security  was  now  left;  justice  was  no  longer 
administered,  or  if  it  was,  it  was  controlled  by  passion, 
chance,  or  party.  Not  only  was  there  no  security  in  the 
relations  of  private  life,  but  the  highways  were  covered  with 
robbers  and  companies  of  brigands.  Anarchy  in  every  part 
of  the  civil,  as  well  as  of  the  moral  world,  prevailed;  and 
neither  the  House  of  Commons,  nor  the  republican  Council 
of  State,  had  the  power  to  restrain  it. 

Thus,  the  three  great  parties  which  had  brought  about 
the  revolution,  and  which  in  their  turn  had  been  called  upon 
to  conduct  it — had  been  called  upon  to  govern  the  country 
according  to  their  principles  and  their  will— had  all  signally 
failed.  They  could  do  nothing — they  could  settle  nothing. 
"Now  it  was,"  says  Bossuet,  "  that  a  man  was  found  who 
left  nothing  to  fortune,  which  he  could  gain  by  counsel  and 
foresight;"  a  remark  which  has  no  foundation  whatever  in 
truth,  and  which  every  part  of  history  contradicts.  No  man 
ever  left  more  to  fortune  than  Cromwell.  No  one  ever 
risked  more — no  one  ever  pushed  forward  more  rashly, 
without  design,  without  an  aim,  yet  determined  to  go  as  far 
as  fate  would  carry  him.  Unbounded  ambition,  and  admir- 
able tact  for  drawing  from  every  day,  from  every  circum- 
stance, some  new  progress— the  art  of  profiting  by  fortune 
without  seeming  ever  to  possess  the  desire  to  constrain  it, 
formed  the  character  of  Cromwell.  In  one  particular  his 
career  was  singular,  and  differs  from  that  of  every  indi- 
vidual with  whom  we  are  apt  to  compare  him:  he  adapted 
himself  to  all  the  various  changes,  numerous  as  they  were, 
as  well  as  to  the  state  of  things  they  led  to,  of  the  revolu- 
tion. He  appears  a  prominent  character  in  every  scene, 
from  the  rise  of  the  curtain  to  the  close  of  the  piece.  He 
was  now  the  instigator  of  the  insurrection — now  the  abetter 
of  anarchy — now  the  most  fiery  of  the  revolutionists — now 
the  restorer  of  order  and  social  re-organization;  thus  playing 
himself  all  the  principal  parts  which,  in  the  common  run  of 
revolutions,  are  usually  distributed  among  the  greatest  actors. 
He  was  not  a  Mirabeau,  for  he  failed  in  eloquence,  and, 
though  very  active,  he  made  no  great  figure  in  the  first  years 
of  the  long  Parliament.    But  he  was  successively  Danton  and 


CiVILi^ATION    IN^    MODERN    EUROPE.  245 

Bonaparte.  Cromwell  did  more  than  any  one  to  overthrow 
authority;  he  raised  it  up  again,  because  there  was  no  other 
than  he  that  could  take  it  and  manage  it.  The  country  re- 
quired a  ruler;  all  others  failed,  and  he  succeeded.  This  was 
his  title.  Once  master  of  the  government,  Cromwell,  whose 
boundless  ambition  had  exerted  itself  so  vigorously,  who  had 
so  constantly  pushed  fortune  before  him,  and  seemed  deter- 
mined never  to  stop  in  his  career,  displayed  a  good  sense,  a 
prudence,  a  knowledge  of  how  much  was  possible,  which  over- 
ruled his  most  violent  passions.  There  can  be  no  doubt  of 
his  extreme  fondness  for  absolute  power,  nor  of  his  desire  to 
place  the  crown  upon  his  own  head  and  keep  it  in  his  family. 
He  saw  the  peril  of  this  latter  design  and  renounced  it;  and 
though,  in  fact,  he  did  exercise  absolute  authority,  he  saw 
very  well  that  the  spirit  of  the  times  would  not  bear  it;  that 
the  revolution  which  he  had  helped  to  bring  about,  which  he 
had  followed  through  all  its  phases,  had  been  directed 
against  despotism,  and  that  the  uncontrollable  will  of  Eng- 
land was  to  be  governed  by  a  parliament  and  parliamentary 
forms.  He  endeavored,  therefore,  despot  as  he  was,  by 
taste  and  by  deeds,  to  govern  by  a  parliament.  For  this 
purpose  he  had  recourse  to  all  the  various  parties;  he  tried 
to  form  a  parliament  from  the  religious  enthusiasts,  from 
the  republicans,  from  the  Presbyterians,  and  from  the  officers 
of  the  army.  He  tried  every  means  to  obtain  a  parliament 
able  and  willing  to  take  part  with  him  in  the  government; 
but  he  tired  in  vain;  every  party,  the  moment  it  was  seated 
in  St.  Stephen's,  endeavored  to  wrest  from  him  the  authority 
w^hich  he  exercised,  and  to  rule  in  its  turn.  I  do  not  mean 
to  deny  that  his  personal  interest,  the  gratification  of  his 
darling  ambition  was  his  first  care;  but  it  is  no  less  certain 
that  if  he  had  abdicated  his  authority  one  day,  he  would 
have  been  obliged  to  resume  it  the  next.  Puritans  or  royal- 
ists, republicans  or  officers,  there  was  no  one  but  Cromwell 
who  was  in  a  state  at  this  time  to  govern  with  anything  like 
order  or  justice.  The  experiment  had  been  made.  It 
seemed  absurd  to  think  of  leaving  to  parliaments,  that  is  to 
say,  to  the  faction  sitting  in  parliament,  a  government  which 
it  could  not  maintain.  Such  was  the  extraordinary  situation 
of  Cromwell:  he  governed  by  a  system  which  he  knew  very 
well  was  foreign  and  hateful  to  the  country,  he  exercised  an 
authority  which  was  acknowledged  necessary  by  all,  but 
which  was  acceptable  to  none.  No  party  looked  upon  his 
domination  as  a  definitive  government.  Royalists,  Presby- 
terians, republicans,  even  the  army  itself,  which  appears  to 


24^  GENERAL    HISTORY    OF 

have  been  the  part}'  most  devoted  to  Cromwell,  all  looked 
upon  his  rule  as  transitory.  He  had  no  hold  upon  the  affec- 
tions of  the  people;  he  was  more  than  3.  pis-aller^  a  last 
resort,  a  temporary  necessity.  The  protector,  the  absolute 
master  of  England,  was  obliged  all  his  life  to  have  recourse 
to  force  to  preserve  his  power;  no  party  could  govern  so 
well  as  he,  but  no  party  liked  to  see  the  government  in  his 
hands;  he  was  repeatedly  attacked  by  them  all  at  once. 

Upon  Cromwell's  death,  there  was  no  party  in  a  situation 
to  seize  upon  the  government  except  the  republicans;  they 
did  seize  upon  it,  but  with  no  better  success  than  before. 
This  happened  from  no  lack  of  confidence,  at  least,  in  the 
enthusiasts  of  the  party.  A  spirited  and  talented  tract,  pub- 
lished at  this  juncture  by  Milton,  is  entitled  "  A  Ready  and 
Easy  Way  to  Establish  a  Free  Commonwealth."  You  may 
judge  of  the  blindness  of  these  men,  who  soon  fell  into  a 
state  which  showed  that  it  was  quite  as  impossible  for  them 
tocarry  on  the  government  now  as  it  had  been  before.  Monk 
undertook  the  direction  of  that  event  which  all  England  now- 
seemed  anxious  for.     The  Restoration  was  accomplished. 

The  restoration  of  the  Stuarts  was  an  event  generally 
pleasing  to  the  nation.  It  brought  back  a  government  which 
still  dwelt  in  its  memory,  which  was  founded  upon  its  ancient 
traditions,  while,  at  the  same  time,  it  had  some  of  the  ad- 
vantages of  a  new  government,  in  that  it  had  not  recently 
been  tried,  in  that  its  faults  and  its  power  had  not  lately 
been  felt.  The  ancient  monarchy  was  the  only  system  of 
government  which  had  not  been  decried,  within  the  last 
twenty  )'ears,  for  its  abuses  and  want  of  capacity  in  the  ad- 
ministration of  the  affairs  of  the  kingdom.  From  these  two 
causes  the  restoration  was  extremely  popular;  it  was  unop- 
posed by  any  but  the  dregs  of  the  most  violent  factions, 
while  the  public  rallied  round  it  with  great  sincerity.  All 
parties  in  the  country  seemed  now  to  believe  that  this  offered 
the  only  chance  left  of  a  stable  and  legal  government,  and 
this  was  what,  above  all  things,  the  nation  now  desired. 
This  also  was  what  the  .restoration  seemed  especially  to 
promise;  it  took  much  pains  to  present  itself  under  the 
aspect  of  legal  government. 

The  first  royalist  party,  indeed,  to  whom,  upon  the  return 
of  Charles  the  Second,  the  management  of  affairs  was  in- 
trusted, was  the  legal  party,  represented  by  its  able  leader, 


CIVILIZATION    IN    MODERN    EUROPE.  247 

the  Lord  Chancellor  Clarendon.  From  1660  to  1677,  Claren- 
don was  prime  minister,  and  had  the  chief  direction  of 
affairs:  he  and  his  friends  brought  back  with  them  their  an- 
cient principles  of  government,  the  absolute  sovereignty  of 
the  king,  kept  within  legal  bounds,  limited  by  the  House  of 
Commons  as  regards  taxation,  by  the  public  tribunals,  in 
matters  of  private  right,  or  relating  to  individual  liberty-- 
possessing,  nevertheless,  in  point  of  government,  properly 
so  called,  an  almost  complete  independence  and  the  most 
decided  preponderance,  to  the  exclusion  or  even  in  opposi- 
tion to  the  votes  of  the  majorities  of  the  two  houses,  but 
particulars  to  that  of  the  House  of  Commons.  In  other 
matters  there  was  not  much  to  complain  of:  a  tolerable 
degree  of  respect  was  paid  to  legal  order;  there  was  a  toler- 
able degree  of  solicitude  for  the  national  interests;  a  suffi- 
ciently noble  sentiment  of  national  dignity  was  preserved, 
and  a  color  of  morality  that  was  grave  and  honorable.  Such 
was  the  character  of  Clarendon's  administration,  during  the 
seven  years  the  government  was  commited  to  his  charge. 

But  the  fundamental  principles  upon  which  this  adminis- 
tration was  based— the  absolute  sovereignty  of  the  king,  and 
a  government  beyond  the  preponderating  control  of  parlia- 
ment—were now  become  old  and  powerless.  Notwithstand- 
ing the  temporary  reaction  which  took  place  at  the  first  burst 
of  the  restoration,  twenty  years  of  parliamentary  rule  against 
royalty  had  destroyed  them  for  ever.  A  new  party  soon 
showed  itself  among  the  royalists;  libertines,  profligates, 
wretches  who,  imbued  with  the  free  opinions  of  the  times, 
and  seeing  that  power  was  with  the  commons— caring  them- 
selves but  little  about  legal  order,  or  the  absolute  power  of 
the  king — were  only  anxious  for  success,  and  to  discover  the 
means  of  influence  and  power  in  whatever  quarter  they  were 
likely  to  be  found.  These  formed  a  party,  and  allying  them- 
selves with  the  national,  discontented  party,  Clarendon  was 
discarded. 

A  new  system  of  government  now  took  place  under  that 
portion  of  the  royalists  I  have  just  described;  profligates 
and  libertines  formed  the  administration  of  the  Cabal,  and 
several  others  which  followed  it.  What  was  their  character? 
Without  inquietude  respecting  principles,  laws,  or  rights,  or 
care  for  justice  or  truth,  they  sought  the  means  of  success 
upon  every  occasion,  whatever  these  means  might  be;  if 
success  depended  on  the  influence  of  the  commons,  the 
commons  were  everything;  if  it  was  necessary  to  cajole  the 


248  GENERAL    HISTORY    OF 

commons,  the  commons  were  cajoled  without  scruple,  even 
though  they  had  to.  apologize  to  them  the  next  day.  At 
one  moment  they  attempted  corruption,  at  another  they  flat- 
tered the  national  wishes;  no  regard  was  shown  for  the  gen- 
eral interests  of  the  country,  for  its  dignity  or  its  honor;  in 
a  word,  it  was  a  government  profoundly  selfish  and  immoral, 
totally  unacquainted  with  all  theory,  principle,  or  public 
object:  but,  withal,  in  the  practical  management  of  affairs, 
showing  considerable  intelligence  and  liberality.  Such  was 
the  character  of  the  Cabal  ministry,  of  Earl  Danby's,  and  of 
the  English  government  from  1667  to  1679.  Yet  notwith- 
standing its  immorality,  notwithstanding  its  disdain  of  all 
principle,  and  of  the  true  interests  of  the  country,  this 
government  was  not  so  unpopular,  not  so  odious  to  the 
nation  as  that  of  Clarendon;  and  this  simply  because  it 
adapted  itself  better  to  the  times,  better  understood  the  sen- 
timents of  the  people,  even  while  it  derided  them.  It  was 
neither  foreign  nor  antiquated,  like  that  of  Clarendon;  and 
though  infinitely  more  dangerous  to  the  country,  the  people 
accommodated  themselves  better  to  it. 

But  this  corruption,  this  servility,  this  contempt  of  public 
rights  and  public  honor,  were  at  last  carried  to  such  a  pitch 
as  to  be  no  longer  supportable.  A  general  outcry  was  raised 
against  this  government  of  profligates.  A  patriotic  party, 
supported  by  the  nation,  became  gradually  formed  in  the 
House  of  Commons,  and  the  king  was  obliged  to  take  the 
leaders  of  it  into  his  council.  Lord  Essex,  the  son  of  him 
who  had  commanded  the  first  parliamentary  armies  in  the 
civil  war,  Lord  Russel,  and  Lord  Shaftesbury,  w^ho,  without 
any  of  the  virtues  of  the  other  two,  was  much  their  superior 
in  political  abilities,  were  now  called  to  the  management  of 
affairs.  The  national  party,  to  whom  the  direction  of  the 
government  was  now  committed  proved  itself  unequal  to  the 
task:  it  could  not  gain  possession  of  the  moral  force  of  the 
country:  it  could  neither  manage  the  interests,  the  habits, 
nor  the  prejudices  of  the  king,  of  the  court,  nor  of  any  with 
whom  it  had  to  do.  It  inspired  no  party,  either  king  or  peo- 
ple, with  any  confidence  in  its  energy  or  ability;  and  after 
holding  power  for  a  short  time,  this  national  ministry  com- 
pletely failed.  The  virtues  of  its  leaders,  their  generous 
courage,  the  beauty  of  their  death,  have  raised  them  to  a 
distinguished  niche  in  the  temple  of  fame,  and  entitled  them 
to  honorable  mention  in  the  page  of  history;  but  their  poli- 
tical capacities  in  no  way  corresponded  to  their  virtues:  they 


CIVILIZATION    IN    MODERN    EUROPE.  249 

could  not  wield  power,  though  they  could  withstand  its  cor- 
rupting influence,  nor  could  they  achieve  a  triumph  for  that 
glorious  cause,  for  which  they  could  so  nobly  die! 

The  failure  of  this  attempt  left  the  English  restoration  in 
rather  an  awkward  plight;  it  had,  like  the  English  revolu- 
tion, in  a  manner  tried  all  parties  without  success.  The  legal 
ministry,  the  corrupt  ministry,  the  national  ministry,  having 
all  failed,  the  country  court  were  nearly  in  the  same  situation 
as  that  which  England  had  been  in  before,  at  the  close  of  the 
revolutionary  troubles  in  1653.  Recourse  was  had  to  the 
same  expedient:  what  Cromwell  had  turned  to  the  profit  of 
the  revolution,  Charles  II.,  now  turned  to  the  profit  of  the 
crown;  he  entered  upon  a  career  of  asbolute  power, 

James  II.  succeeded  his  brother;  and  another  question 
now  became  mixed  up  with  that  of  despotism:  the  question 
of  religion.  James  II.  wished  to  achieve,  at  the  same  time, 
a  triumph  for  popery  and  for  absolute  power:  now  again,  as 
at  the  commencement  of  the  revolution,  there  was  a  religious 
struggle  and  a  political  struggle,  and  both  were  directed 
against  the  government.  It  has  often  been  asked,  what 
course  affairs  would  have  taken  if  William  III.  had  not 
existed,  and  come  over  to  put  an  end  to  the  quarrel  between 
James  and  the  people.  My  firm  belief  is  that  the  same  event 
would  have  taken  place.  All  England,  except  a  very  small 
party,  was  at  this  time  arrayed  against  James;  and  it  seems 
very  certain,  that,  under  some  form  or  other,  the  revolution 
of  1688  must  have  been  accomplished.  But  at  this  crisis, 
causes  even  superior  to  the  internal  state  of  England  con- 
duced to  this  event.  It  was  European  as  well  as  English. 
It  is  at  this  point  that  the  English  revolution  links  itself,  by 
facts,  and  independently  of  the  influence  of  its  example,  to 
the  general  course  of  European  civilization. 

While  the  struggle  which  I  have  just  been  narrating  took 
place  in  England,  the  struggle  of  absolute  power  against 
religious  and  civil  liberty — a  struggle  of  the  same  kind, 
however  different  the  actors,  the  forms,  and  the  theatre, 
took  place  upon  the  continent — a  struggle  which  was  at  bot- 
tom the  same,  and  carried  on  in  the  same  cause.  The  pure 
monarchy  of  Louis  XIV.  attempted  to  become  universal 
monarchy,  at  least  it  gave  the  world  every  reason  to  fear 
it;  and,  in  fact,  Europe  did  fear  it.  A  league  was  formed 
in    Europe   between  various    political  parties  to  resist  this 


250  GENERAL    HISTORY    OF 

attempt,  and  the  chief  of  this  league  was  the  chief  of  the  party 
that  struggled  for  the  civil  and  religious  libert}'  of  Europe — 
William,  Prince  of  Orange.  The  Protestant  republic  of 
Holland,  with  William  at  its  head,  had  made  a  stand  against 
pure  monarchy,  represented  and  conducted  by  Louis  XIV. 
The  fight  here  was  not  for  civil  and  religious  liberty  in  the 
interior  of  states,  but  for  the  interior  independence  of  the 
states  themselves.  Louis  XIV.  and  his  adversaries  never 
thought  of  debating  the  questions  which  were  debated  so 
fiercely  in  England.  This  struggle  was  not  one  of  parties, 
but  of  states;  it  was  carried  on,  not  by  political  outbreaks 
and  revolutions,  but  by  war  and  negotiation;  still,  at  bottom, 
the  same  principle  was  the  subject  of  contention. 

It  happened,  then,  that  the  strife  between  absolute  power 
and  liberty,  which  James  II.  renewed  in  England,  broke  out 
at  the  very  moment  that  this  general  struggle  was  going  on 
in  Europe  between  Louis  XIV.  and  the  Prince  of  Orange,  the 
representatives  of  these  tvv^o  great  systems,  as  well  in  the 
affairs  which  took  place  on  the  Thames  as  on  the  Scheldt. 
The  league  against  Louis  was  so  powerful  that  many  sove- 
reigns entered  into  it,  either  publicly,  or  in  an  underhand, 
though  very  effective  manner,  who  were  rather  opposed  than 
not  to  the  interests  of  civil  and  religious  liberty.  The  Em- 
peror of  Germany  and  Innocent  XL  both  supported  William 
against  France.  And  William  crossed  the  channel  to  Eng- 
land less  to  serve  the  internal  interests  of  the  country,  than 
to  draw  it  entirely  into  the  struggle  against  Louis.  He  laid 
hold  of  this  kingdom  as  a  new  force  which  he  wanted,  but  of 
which  his  adversary  had  had  the  disposal,  up  to  this  time, 
against  him.  So  long  as  Charles  II.  and  James  II.  reigned, 
England  belonged  to  Louis  XIV.;  he  had  the  disposal  of  it, 
and  had  kept  it  employed  against  Holland.  England  then 
was  snatched  from  the  side  of  absolute  and  universal  mon- 
archy, to  become  the  most  powerful  support  and  instrument 
of  civil  and  religious  liberty.  This  is  the  view  which  must 
be  taken,  as  regards  European,  civilization,  of  the  revolution 
of  1688;  it  is  this  which  gives  it  a  place  in  the  assemblage  of 
European  events,  independently  of  the  influence  of  its  ex- 
ample, and  of  the  vast  effect  which  it  had  upon  the  minds 
and  opinions  of  men  in  the  following  century. 

Thus,  I  think,  I  have  rendered  it  clear,  that  the  true 
sense,  the  essential  character  of  this  revolution  is,  as  I  said 
at  the  outset  of  this  lecture,  an  attempt  to  abolish  absolute 


CIVILIZATION    IN    MODERN    EUROPE.  251 

power  in  the  temporal  order,  as  had  already  been  done  in 
the  spiritual.  This  fact  appears  in  all  the  phases  of  the 
revolution,  from  its  first  outbreak  to  the  restoration,  and 
again  in  the  crisis  of  1688:  and  this  not  only  as  regards  its 
interior  progress,  but  in  its  relations  with  Europe  in  general. 

It  now  only  remains  for  us  to  study  the  same  great 
event,  the  struggle  of  free  inquiry  and  pure  monarchy,  upon 
the  Continent,  or  at  least  the  causes  and  preparation  of  this 
event.     This  will  be  the  object  of  the  next  and  final  lecture. 


LECTURE   XIV. 

THE    FRENCH    REVOLUTION. 

I  ENDEAVORED,  at  OUT  last  meeting-,  to  ascertain  the  true 
character  and  poHtical  object  of  the  EngHsh  revolution. 
We  have  seen  that  it  was  the  first  coIHsion  of  the  two  great 
facts  to  which,  in  the  course  of  the  sixteenth  century,  all  the 
civilization  of  primitive  Europe  tended — monarchy  on  the 
one  hand,  and  free  inquiry  on  the  other.  These  two  powers 
came  to  blows,  if  I  may  use  the  expression,  for  the  first  time 
in  England.  It  has  been  attempted,  from  this  circumstance, 
to  deduce  a  radical  difference  between  the  social  state  of 
England  and  that  of  the  Continent;  it  has  been  contended, 
that  no  comparison  could  be  made  between  countries  so 
differently  situated;  and  it  has  been  affirmed,  that  the  Eng- 
lish people  had  lived  in  a  sort  of  moral  separation  from  the 
rest  of  Europe,  analogous  to  its  physical  insulation. 

It  is  true  that  between  the  civilization  of  England,  and 
that  of  the  Continental  states,  there  has  been  a  material 
difference  which  it  is  important  that  we  should  rightly  under- 
stand. You  have  already  had  a  glimpse  of  it  in  the  course 
of  these  lectures.  The  development  of  the  different  prin- 
ciples, the  different  elements  of  society,  took  place,  in  some 
measure,  at  the  same  time,  at  least  much  more  simultane- 
ously than  upon  the  Continent.  When  I  endeavored  to 
determine  the  complexion  of  European  civilization  as  com- 
pared with  the  civilization  of  ancient  and  Asiatic  nations,  I 
showed  that  the  former  was  varied,  rich,  and  complex,  and 
that  it  had  never  fallen  under  the  influence  of  any  exclusive 
principle;  that,  in  it,  the  different  elements  of  the  social 
state  had  combined,  contended  with,  and  modified  each 
other,  and  had  continually  been  obliged  to  come  to  an  ac- 
commodation, and  to  subsist  together.  This  fact,  which 
forms  the  general  character  of  European  civilization,  has  in 
an  especial  manner  been  that  of  the  civilization  of  England; 
it  is  in  that  country  that  it  has  appeared  most  evidently  and 
uninterruptedly;  it  is  there  that  the  civil  and  religious  orders, 
aristocracy,  democracy,  monarchy,  local  and  central  institu- 
tions, moral  and  political  development,  have  proceeded  and 


CIVILIZATION    IN    MODERN    EUROPE.  253 

grown  up  together,  if  not  with  equal  rapidity  at  least  but  at 
a  little  distance  from  each  other.  Under  the  reign  of  the 
Tudors,  for  example,  in  the  midst  of  the  most  remarkable 
progress  of  pure  monarchy,  we  have  seen  the  democratic 
principle,  the  popular  power,  make  its  way  and  gain  strength 
almost  at  the  same  time.  The  revolution  of  the  seventeenth 
century  broke  out;  it  was  at  the  same  time  religious  and 
political.  The  feudal  aristocracy  appeared  in  it  in  a  very 
enfeebled  state,  and  with  all  the  symptoms  of  decay;  it  was, 
however,  still  in  a  condition,  to  preserve  its  place  in  this 
revolution,  and  to  have  some  share  in  its  results.  The  same 
thing  has  been  the  case  in  the  whole  course  of  English  his- 
tory; no  ancient  element  has  ever  entirely  perished,  nor  any 
new  element  gained  a  total  ascendency;  no  particular  prin- 
ciple has  ever  obtained  an  exclusive  influence.  There  has 
always  been  a  simultaneous  development  of  the  different 
forces,  and  a  sort  of  negotiation  or  compromise  between 
their  pretensions  and  interests. 

On  the  Continent  the  march  of  civilization  had  been  less 
complex  and  complete.  The  different  elements  of  society, 
the  civil  and  religious  orders,  monarchy,  aristocracy,  de- 
mocracy, have  developed  themselves,  not  together,  and 
abreast,  as  it  were,  but  successively.  Every  principle,  every 
system,  has  in  some  measure  had  its  turn.  One  age,  for 
example,  has  belonged,  I  shall  not  say  exclusively,  but  with 
a  decided  predominance,  to  the  feudal  aristocracy;  another 
to  the  principle  of  monarchy;  another  to  the  principle  of 
democracy.  Compare  the  middle  ages  in  France,  with  the 
middle  ages  in  England;  the  eleventh,  twelfth,  and  thirteenth 
centuries  of  our  history  with  the  corresponding  centuries  on 
the  other  side  of  the  channel;  you  will  find  in  France,  at 
that  epoch,  feudalism  in  a  state  of  almost  absolute  sove- 
reignty, while  monarchy  and  the  democratic  principle 
scarcely  had  an  existence.  But  turn  to  England,  and  you 
will  find,  that  although  the  feudal  aristocracy  greatly  pre- 
dominated, that  monarchy  and  democracy  possessed,  at  the 
same  time,  strength  and  importance.  Monarchy  triumphed 
in  England  under  Elizabeth,  as  in  France  under  Louis  XIV.; 
but  what  precautions  it  was  constrained  to  take!  how  many 
restrictions,  sometimes  aristocratic,  sometimes  democratic,  it 
was  obliged  to  submit  to!  In  England  every  system,  every 
principle,  has  had  its  time  of  strength  and  success;  but 
never  so  completely  and  exclusively  as  on  the  Continent: 
the  conqueror  has  always  been  constrained  to  tolerate  the 


254  •  GENERAL    HISTORY    Of 

presence  of  his  rivals,  and  to  leave  them  a  certain  share  of 
influence. 

To  this  difference  in  the  march  of  these  two  civilizations 
there  are  attached  advantages  and  inconveniences  which  are 
apparent  in  the  history  of  the  two  countries.  There  is  no 
doubt,  for  example,  that  the  simultaneous  development  of 
the  different  social  elements  has  greatly  contributed  to  make 
England  arrive  more  quickly  than  any  of  the  Continental 
states,  at  the  end  and  aim  of  all  society,  that  is  to  say,  the 
establishment  of  a  government  at  once  regular  and  free.  It 
is  the  very  nature  of  a  government  to  respect  all  the  interests, 
all  the  powers  of  the  state,  to  conciliate  them  and  make  them 
live  and  prosper  in  common:  now  such  was,  beforehand,  and 
by  the  concurrence  of  a  multitude  of  causes,  the  despotism 
and  mutual  relation  of  the  different  elements  of  English 
society;  and,  therefore,  a  general  and  somewhat  regular 
government  had  the  less  difficulty  in  establishing  itself.  In 
like  manner  the  essence  of  liberty  is  the  simultaneous  mani- 
festation and  action  of  every  interest,  every  kind  of  right, 
every  force,  every  social  element.  England,  therefore,  had 
made  a  nearer  approach  to  liberty  than  most  other  states. 
From  the  same  causes,  national  good  sense  and  intelligence 
of  public  affairs  must  have  formed  themselves  more  quickly 
than  elsewhere;  political  good  sense  consists  in  undertaking 
and  appreciating  every  fact,  and  in  assigning  to  each  its 
proper  part;  in  England  it  has  been  a  necessary  consequence 
of  the  state  of  society  a  natural  result  of  the  course  of  civili- 
zation. 

In  the  states  of  the  Continent,  on  the  contrary,  every 
system,  every  principle,  having  had  its  turn,  and  having  had 
a  more  complete  and  exclusive  ascendency,  the  development 
took  place  on  a  larger  scale,  and  with  more  striking  circum- 
stances. Monarchy  and  feudal  aristocracy,  for  example, 
appeared  on  the  Continental  stage  with  more  boldness,  ex- 
tent, and  freedom.  Every  political  experiment,  so  to  speak, 
was  broader  and  more  complete.  The  result  was,  that  poli- 
tical ideas — I  speak  of  general  ideas,  and  not  of  good  sense 
applied  to  the  conduct  of  affairs — that  political  ideas  and 
doctrines  took  a  greater  elevation,  and  displayed  themselves 
with  much  greater  vigor.  Every  system  having,  in  some 
sort,  presented  itself  singly,  and  having  remained  a  long 
time  on  the  stage,  people  could  contemplate  it  in  its  general 
aspect,  ascend  to  its  first  principles,  pursue  it  into  its  remot- 
est consequences,  and  lay  bare  its  entire  theory.     Whoever 


CIVILIZATION    IN    MODERN    EUROPE.  255 

observes  with  some  degree  of  attention  the  genius  of  the 
English  nation,  will  be  struck  with  a  double  fact;  on  the  one 
hand,  its  steady  good  sense  and  practical  ability;  on  the 
other,  its  want  of  general  ideas,  and  of  elevation  of  thought 
upon  theoretical  questions.  Whether  we  open  an  English 
work  on  history,  jurisprudence,  or  any  other  subject,  we 
rarely  find  the  great  and  fundamental  reason  of  things.  In 
every  subject,  and  especially  in  the  political  sciences,  pure 
philosophical  doctrines — science  properly  so  called — have 
prospered  much  more  on  the  Continent,  than  in  England; 
their  flights,  at  least,  have  been  bolder  and  more  vigorous. 
Indeed,  it  cannot  be  doubted  that  the  different  character  of 
the  development  of  civilization  in  the  two  countries  has 
greatly  contributed  to  this  result. 

At  all  events,  whatever  may  be  thought  of  the  incon- 
veniences or  advantages  which  have  been  produced  by  this 
difference,  it  is  a  real  and  incontestable  fact,  and  that  which 
most  essentially  distinguishes  England  from  the  Continent. 
But,  though  the  different  principles,  the  different  social  ele- 
ments, have  developed  themselves  more  simultaneously  there, 
and  more  successively  in  France,  it  does  not  follow  that,  at 
bottom,  the  road  and  the  goal  have  not  been  the  same. 
Considered  generally,  the  Continent  and  England  have  gone 
through  the  same  great  phases  of  civilization;  events  have 
followed  the  same  course;  similar  causes  have  led  to  similar 
effects.  You  may  have  convinced  yourselves  of  this  by  the 
view  I  have  given  you  of  civilization  down  to  the  sixteenth 
century;  you  will  remark  it  no  less  in  studying  the  seven- 
teenth and  eighteenth  centuries.  The  development  of  free 
inquiry,  and  that  of  pure  monarchy,  almost  simultaneous  in 
England,  were  accomplished  on  the  Continent  at  pretty  long 
intervals;  but  they  were  accomplished;  and  these  two  powers, 
after  having  successively  exercised  a  decided  predominance, 
came  also  into  collision.  The  general  march  of  society, 
then,  on  the  whole,  has  been  the  same;  and,  though  the 
differences  are  real,  the  resemblance  is  still  greater.  A 
rapid  sketch  of  modern  times  will  leave  you  no  doubt  on  this 
subject. 

The  moment  we  cast  our  eyes  on  the  history  of  Europe 
in  the  seventeenth  and  eighteenth  centuries,  we  cannot  fail 
to  perceive  that  France  marches  at  the  head  of  European 
civilization.  At  the  beginning  of  this  course,  I  strongly 
affirmed  this  fact,  and  endeavored  to  point  out  its  cause. 
We  shall  now  find  it  more  strikingly  displayed  than  it  has 
.ever  been  before. 


^5^  ,,  GENERAL    HISTORY    OF 

The  principle  of  pure  and  absolute  monarchy  had  pre- 
dominated in  Spain,  under  Charles  V.  and  Philip  II.,  before 
its  development  in  France  under  Louis  XIV.  In  like  man- 
ner the  principle  of  free  inquiry  had  reigned  in  England  in 
the  seventeenth  century,  before  its  development  in  France 
in  the  eighteenth.  Pure  monarchy,  however,  did  not  go 
forth  from  Spain,  nor  free  inquiry  from  England,  to  make 
the  conquest  of  Europe.  The  two  principles  or  systems 
remained,  in  some  sort,  confined  within  the  countries  in 
which  they  sprang  up.  They  required  to  pass  through 
France  to  extend  their  dominion;  pure  monarchy  and  liberty 
of  inquiry  were  compelled  to  become  French  before  they 
could  become  European.  That  communicative  character  of 
French  civilization,  that  social  genius  of  France,  which  has 
displayed  itself  at  every  period,  was  peculiary  conspicuous 
at  the  period  which  now  engages  our  attention.  I  shall  not 
dwell  upon  this  fact;  it  has  been  expounded  to  you,  with 
equal  force  of  argument  and  brilliancy,  in  the  lectures  in 
which  your  attention  has  been  directed  to  the  influence  of 
the  literature  and  philosophy  of  France  in  the  eighteenth 
century.  You  have  seen  how  the  philosophy  of  France  had, 
in  regard  to  liberty,  more  influence  on  Europe  than  the 
liberty  of  England.  You  have  seen  how  French  civilization 
showed  itself  much  more  active  and  contagious  than  that  of 
any  other  country.  I  have  no  occasion,  therefore,  to  dwell 
upon  the  details  of  this  fact;  I  avail  myself  of  it  only  in 
order  to  make  it  my  ground  for  making  France  comprehend 
the  picture  of  modern  European  civilization.  There  were, 
no  doubt,  between  French  civilization  at  this  period,  and 
that  of  the  other  states  of  Europe,  differences  in  which  I 
ought  to  lay  great  stress,  if  it  was  my  attention  at  present  to 
enter  fully  into  this  subject;  but  I  must  proceed  so  rapidly, 
that  I  am  obliged  to  pass  over  whole  nations,  and  whole 
ages,  I  think  it  better  to  confine  your  attention  to  the  course 
of  French  civilization,  as  being  an  image,  though  an  imper- 
fect one,  of  the  general  course  of  things  in  Europe. 

The  influence  of  France  in  Europe,  in  the  seventeenth 
and  eighteenth  centuries,  appears  under  very  different  as- 
pects. In  the  first  of  these  centuries,  it  was  the  French 
government  which  acted  upon  Europe,  and  took  the  lead  in 
the  march  of  general  civilization.  In  the  second,  it  was  no 
longer  to  the  French  government,  but  to  the  French  society, 
to  France  herself,  that  the  preponderance  belonged.  It  was 
at  first  Louis  XIV.  and  his  court,  and  then  France  herself, 
and  her  public  opinion,^  that  attracted  the  attention,  and 


CIVILIZATION    IN    MODERN    EUROPE.  257 

swayed  the  minds  of  the  rest  of  Europe.  There  were,  in 
the  seventeenth  century,  nations,  who,  as  such,  made  a  more 
prominent  appearance  on  the  stage,  and  took  a  greater  share 
in  the  course  of  events,  than  the  French  nation.  Thus^ 
during  the  thirty  years'  war,  the  German  nation,  and  the 
revolution  of  England,  the  English  nation  played,  within 
their  respective  spheres,  a  much  greater  part  than  the  French 
nation,  at  that  period,  played  within  theirs.  In  the  eigh- 
teenth century,  in  like  manner,  there  were  stronger,  more 
respected,  and  more  formidable  governments  than  that  of 
France.  There  is  no  doubt  that  Frederick  II.  and  Maria 
Theresa  had  more  activity  and  weight  in  Europe  than  Louis 
XV.  Still,  at  both  of  these  periods,  France  was  at  the  head 
of  European  civilization,  first  through  her  government,  and 
afterward  through  herself;  at  one  time  through  the  political 
action  of  her  rulers,  at  another  through  her  own  intellectual 
development  To  understand  thoroughly  the  predominant 
influence  on  the  course  of  civilization  in  France,  and  conse- 
quently in  Europe,  we  must  therefore  study,  in  the  seven- 
teenth century,  the  French  government,  and  in  the  eigh- 
teenth, the  French  nation.  We  must  change  our  ground  and 
our  objects  of  view,  according  as  time  changes  the  scene  and 
the  actors. 

Whenever  the  government  of  Louis  XIV.  is  spoken  of, 
whenever  we  attempt  to  appreciate  the  causes  of  his  power 
and  influence  in  Europe,  we  have  little  to  consider  beyond 
his  splendor,  his  conquests,  his  magnificence,  and  the  literary 
glory  of  his  time.  We  must  resort  to  exterior  causes  in 
order  to  account  for  the  preponderance  of  the  French 
government  in  Europe. 

But  this  preponderance,  in  my  opinion,  was  derived  from 
causes  more  deeply  seated,  from  motives  of  a  more  serious 
kind.  We  must  not  believe  that  it  was  entirely  by  means  of 
victories,  festivals,  or  even  master-pieces  of  geniu^,  that 
Louis  XIV.  and  his  government  played,  at  that  period,  the 
part  which  no  one  can  deny  them. 

Many  of  you  may  remember,  and  all  of  you  have  heard 
of  the  effect  which,  twenty-nine  years  ago,  was  produced  by 
the  consular  government  in  France,  and  the  state  in  which  it 
found  our  country.  Abroad,  foreign^invasion  impending, 
and  continual  disasters  in  our  armies;  at  home,  the  elements 
of  government  and  society  in  a  state  of  dissolution;  no  reve- 
nues, no  public  order;  in  short,  a  people  beaten,  humbled, 
and  disorganized — such  was  France  at  the  accession  of  the 


258  GENERAL    HISTORY    OF 

consular  government.  Who  is  there  that  does  not  remember 
the  prodigious  and  successful  activity  of  that  government, 
an  activity  which,  in  a  short  time,  secured  the  independence 
of  our  territory,  revived  our  national  honor,  re-organized  the 
administration  of  government,  re-modeled  our  legislation, 
in  short,  gave  society,  as  it  were,  a  new  life  under  the  hand 
of  power? 

Well — the  government  of  Louis  XIV.,  when  it  began,  did 
something  of  the  same  kind  for  France;  with  great  differen- 
ces of  times,  of  proceedings  and  of  forms,  it  prosecuted  and 
attained  very  nearly  the  same  results. 

Remember  the  state  into  which  France  had  fallen  after 
the  government  of  Cardinal  Richelieu,  and  during  the 
minority  of  Louis  XIV. :  the  Spanish  armies  always  on  the 
frontiers,  and  sometimes  in  the  interior;  continual  danger  of 
invasion;  internal  dissensions  carried  to  extremity,  civil  war, 
the  government  weak,  and  decried  both  at  home  and  abroad. 
There  never  was  a  more  miserable  policy,  more  despised  in 
Europe,  or  more  powerless  in  France,  than  that  of  Cardinal 
Mazarin.  In  a  word,  society  was  in  a  state,  less  violent  per- 
haps, but  very  analogous  to  ours  before  the  i8th  of  Brumaire. 
It  was  from  that  state  that  the  government  of  Louis  XIV. 
delivered  France.  His  earliest  victories  had  the  effect  of  the 
victory  of  Marengo;  they  secured  the"  French  territory  and 
revived  the  national  honor.  I  am  going  to  consider  this 
government  under  its  various  aspects,  in  its  wars,  its  foreign 
relations,  its  administration,  and  its  legislation;  and  you  will 
see,  I  believe,  that  the  comparison  which  I  speak  of,  and  to 
which  I  do  not  wish  to  attach  a  puerile  importance  (for  I 
care  very  little  about  historical  comparisons),  you  will  see, 
I  say,  that  this  comparison  has  a  real  foundation,  and  that  I 
am  fully  justified  in  making  it. 

I  shall  first  speak  of  the  wars  of  Louis  XIV.  European 
wars  were  originally  (as  you  know,  and  as  I  have  several 
times  had  occasion  to  remind  you)  great  popular  movements; 
impelled  by  want,  by  some  fancy,  or  any  other  cause,  whole 
populations,  sometimes  numerous,  sometimes  consisting  of 
mere  bands,  passed  from  one  territory  to  another.  This 
was  the  general  character  of  European  wars,  till  aftef'the 
crusades,  at  the  end  of  the  thirteenth  century. 

After  this  anotheftcind  of  war  arose,  but  almost  equally 
different  from  the  wars  of  modern  times:  these  were  distant 
wars,  undertaken,  not  by  nations,  but  by  their  governing 
powers,  who  went,  at  the  head  of  their  armies,  to  seek,  at  a 
distance,  states  and  adventures.     They  quitted  their  coun- 


CIVILIZATION    IN    MODERN    EUROPE.  259 

try,  abandoned  their  own  territory,  and  penetrated,  some  into 
Germany,  others  into  Italy,  and  others  into  Africa,  with  no 
other  motive  save  their  individual  fancy.  Almost  all  the 
wars  of  the  fifteenth,  and  even  a  part  of  the  sixteenth  cen- 
tury, are  of  this  character.  What  interest — and  I  do  not 
speak  of  a  legitimate  interest — but  what  motive  had  France 
for  wishing  that  Charles  VIII.  should  possess  the  kingdom 
of  Naples?  It  was  evidently  a  war  dictated  by  no  political 
considerations;  the  king  thought  he  had  personal  claims  on 
the  kingdom  of  Naples;  and,  for  this  personal  object,  to 
satisfy  his  own  personal  desire,  he  undertook  the  conquest 
of  a  distant  country,  which  was  by  no  means  adapted  to  the 
territorial  conveniences  of  his  kingdom,  but  which,  on  the 
contrary,  only  endangered  his  power  abroad  and  his  repose 
at  home.  Such,  again,  was  the  case  with  regard  to  the  ex- 
pedition of  Charles  V.  into  Africa.  The  last  war  of  this 
kind  was  the  expedition  of  Charles  XII.  against  Russia. 

The  wars  of  Louis  XIV.  were  not  of  this  description; 
they  were  the  wars  of  a  regular  government — a  government 
fixed  in  the  centre  of  its  dominions,  endeavoring  to  extend  its 
conquests  around,  to  increase  or  consolidate  its  territory;  in 
short,  they  were  political  wars.  They  may  have  been  just  or 
unjust,  they  may  have  cost  France  too  dear; — they  may  be 
objected  to  on  many  grounds — on  the  score  of  morality  or 
excess;  but,  in  fact,  they  were  of  a  much-  more  rational 
character  than  the  wars  which  preceded  them;  they  were  no 
longer  fanciful  adventures;  they  were  dictated  by  serious 
motives;  their  objects  were  to  reach  some  natural  boundary, 
some  population  which  spoke  the  same  language,  and  might 
be  annexed  to  the  kingdom,  some  point  of  defence  against 
a  neighboring  power.  Personal  ambition,  no  doubt,  had  a 
share  in  them;  but  examine  the  wars  of  Louis  XIV.,  one 
after  the  other,  especially  those  of  the  early  part  of  his  reign, 
and  you  will  find  that  their  motives  were  really  political;  you 
will  see  that  they  were  conceived  with  a  view  to  the  power 
and  safety  of  France. 

This  fact  has  been  proved  by  results.  France,  at  the 
present  day,  in  many  respects,  is  what  the  wars  of  Louis 
XIV.  made  her.  The  provinces  which  he  conquered, 
Franche-Comte,  Flanders,  and  Alsace,  have  remained  incor- 
porated with  France.  There  are  rational  conquests  as  well 
as  foolish  ones;  those  of  Louis  XIV.  were  rational;  his  en- 
terprises have  not  that  unreasonable,  capricious  character, 
till  then  so  general;  their  policy  was  able,  if  not  always  just 
and  prudent. 


26o  GENERAL    HISTORY    OF 

If  I  pass  from  the  wars  of  Louis  XIV.  to  his  relations 
with  foreign  states,  to  his  diplomacy  properly  so  called,  I 
find  an  analogous  result.  I  have  already  spoken  of  the  origin 
of  diplomacy  at  the  end  of  the  fifteenth  century.  I  have 
endeavored  to  show  how  the  mutual  relations  of  governments 
and  states,  previously  accidental,  rare,  and  transient,  had  at 
that  period  become  more  regular  and  permanent,  how  they 
had  assumed  a  character  of  great  public  interest;  how,  in 
short,  at  the  end  of  the  fifteenth  and  during  the  first  half  of 
the  sixteenth  century,  diplomacy  had  begun  to  perform  a 
part  of  immense  importance  in  the  course  of  events.  Still, 
however,  it  was  not  till  the  seventeenth  century  that  it 
became  really  systematic;  before  then,  it  had  not  brought 
about  long  alliances,  great  combinations,  and  especially  com- 
binations of  a  durable  nature,  directed  by  fixed  principles, 
with  a  steady  object,  and  with  that  spirit  of  consistency 
which  forms  the  true  character  of  established  governments. 
During  the  course  of  the  religious  revolution,  the  foreign 
relations  of  states  had  been  almost  completely  under  the  in- 
fluence of  religious  interests;  the  Protestant  and  Catholic 
leagues  had  divided  Europe  between  them.  It  was  in  the 
seventeenth  century,  under  the  influence  of  the  government 
of  Louis  XIV.,  that  diplomacy  changed  its  character.  On 
the  one  hand,  it  got  rid  of  the  exclusive  influence  of  the 
religious  principle;  alliances  and  political  combinations  took 
place  from  other  considerations.  At  the  same  time  it 
became  much  more  systematic  and  regular,  and  was  always 
directed  toward  a  certain  object,  according  to  permanent 
principles.  The  regular  birth  of  the  system  of  the  balance 
of  power  in  Europe,  took  place  at  this  period.  It  was  under 
the  government  of  Louis  XIV.  that  this  system,  with  all  the 
considerations  attached  to  it,  really  took  possession  of  the 
politics  of  Europe.  When  we  inquire  what  was,  on  this 
subject,  the  general  idea  or  ruling  principle  of  the  policy 
of  Louis  XIV.,  the  following  seems  to  be  the  result. 

I  have  spoken  of  the  great  struggle  which  took  place  in 
Europe  between  the  pure  monarchy  of  Louis  XIV.,  pretend- 
ing to  establish  itself  as  the  universal  system  of  monarchy, 
and  civil  and  religious  liberty,  and  the  independence  of 
states,  under  the  command  of  the  Prince  of  Orange,  William 
III.  You  have  seen  that  the  great  European  fact,  at  that 
epoch,  was  the  division  of  the  powers  of  Europe  under  these 
two  banners.  But  this  fact  was  not  then  understood  as  I 
now  explain  it;  it  was  hidden,  and  unknown  even  to  those 
by  whom  it  was  accomplished.     The  repression  of  the  system 


CIVILIZATION    IN    MODERN    EUROPE.  261 

of  pure  monarchy,  and  the  consecration  of  civil  and  reli- 
gious liberty,  was  necessarily,  at  bottom,  the  result  of  the 
resistance  of  Holland  and  her  allies  to  Louis  XIV.;  but  the 
question  between  absolute  power  and  liberty  was  not  then 
thus  absolutely  laid  down.  It  has  been  frequently  said  that 
the  propagation  of  absolute  power  was  the  ruling  principle 
in  the  diplomacy  of  Louis  XIV.  I  do  not  think  so.  It  was 
at  a  late  period,  and  in  his  old  age,  that  this  consideration 
assumed  a  great  part  in  his  policy.  The  power  of  France, 
her  preponderance  in  Europe,  the  depression  of  rival  powers 
— in  short,  the  political  interest  and  strength  of  the  state, 
was  the  object  which  Louis  XIV.  always  had  in  view,  whether 
he  was  contending  against  Spain,  the  Emperor  of  Germany, 
or  England.  He  was  much  less  actuated  by  a  wish  for  the 
propagation  of  absolute  power,  than  by  a  desire  for  the 
aggrandizement  of  France  and  his  own  government.  Among 
many  other  proofs  of  this,  there  is  one  which  emanates  from 
Louis  XIV.  himself.  We  find  in  his  Memoirs,  for  the  year 
1666,  if  I  remember  rightly,  a  note  conceived  nearly  in  these 
terms: — 

' '  This  morning  I  had  a  conversation  with  Mr.  Sidney, 
an  English  gentleman,  who  spoke  to  me  of  the  possibility  of 
reviving  the  republican  party  in  England.  Mr.  Sidney  asked 
me  for  ;^4oo,ooo  for  this  purpose.  I  told  him  I  could  not 
give  him  more  than  ;^2oo,ooo.  He  prevailed  on  me  to  send 
to  Switzerland  for  another  English  gentleman,  called  Mr. 
Ludlow,  that  I  might  converse  with  him  upon  the  same  sub- 
ject." 

We  find  accordingly,  in  Ludlow's  Memoirs,  about  the 
same  date,  a  paragraph  to  the  following  import: — 

"  I  have  received  from  the  French  government  an  invita- 
tion to  go  to  Paris,  to  have  some  discussion  on  the  affairs  of 
my  country;  but  I  distrust  this  government." 

And,  in  fact,  Ludlow  did  remain  in  Switzerland. 

You  see  that  the  object  of  Louis  XIV.  at  that  time  was 
to  weaken  the  royal  power  of  England.  He  fomented  in- 
ternal dissensions,  he  labored  to  revive  the  republican  party, 
in  order  to  hinder  Charles  II.  from  becoming  too  powerful 
in  his  own  country.  In  the  course  of  Barillon's  embassy  to 
England,  the  same  fact  is  constantly  apparent.  As  often  as 
the  authority  of  Charles  II.  seems  to  be  gaining  the  ascen- 
dency, and  the  national  party  on  the  point  of  being  over- 
powered, the  French  ambassador  turns  his  influence  in  that 
direction,  gives  money  to  the  leaders  of  the  opposition,  and. 
in  short,  contends  against  absolute  power,  as  soon  as  that 


262  GENERAL    HISTORY    OF 

becomes  the  means  of  weakening  a  rival  of  France.     When 
ever  we  attentively  examine  the  conduct  of  foreign  relations 
under  Louis  XIV.,  this  is  the  fact  which  we  are  struck  with. 

We  are  also  surprised  at  the  capacity  and  ability  of  the 
French  diplomacy  at  this  period.  The  names  of  Torcy, 
D'Avaux,  and  Bonrepaus,  are  known  to  all  well-informed 
persons.  When  we  compare  the  despatches,  the  memorials, 
the  skill,  the  management  of  these  counsellors  of  Louis  XIV., 
with  those  of  the  Spanish,  Portugese,  and  German  negotia- 
tors, we  are  struck  with  the  superiority  of  the  French  minis- 
ters; not  only  with  their  serious  activity  and  application  to 
business,  but  with  their  freedom  of  thought  These  courtiers 
of  an  absolute  king  judge  of  foreign  events,  of  parties,  of 
the  demands  for  freedom,  and  of  popular  revolutions,  much 
more  soundly  than  the  greater  part  of  the  English  them- 
selves of  that  period.  There  is  no  diplomacy  in  Europe  in 
the  seventeenth  century  which  appears  equal  to  the  diplomacy 
of  France,  except  perhaps  that  of  Holland.  The  ministers 
of  John  de  Witt  and  William  of  Orange,  those  illustrious 
leaders  of  the  party  of  civil  and  religious  liberty,  are  the  only 
ones  who  appear  to  have  been  in  a  condition  to  contend  with 
the  servants  of  the  great  absolute  king. 

You  see,  that,  whether  we  consider  the  wars  of  Louis 
XIV.,  or  his  diplomatic  relations,  we  arrive  at  the  same  re- 
sults. We  can  easily  conceive  how  a  government  which 
conducted  in  such  a  manner  its  wars  and  negotiations,  must 
have  acquired  great  solidity  in  Europe,  and  assumed  not 
only  a  formidable,  but  an  able  and  imposing  aspect. 

Let  us  now  turn  our  eyes  to  the  interior  of  France,  and 
the  administration  and  legislation  of  Louis  XIV.;  we  shall 
everywhere  find  new  explanations  of  the  strength  and  splen- 
dor of  his  government. 

It  is  difficult  to  determine  precisely  what  ought  to  be 
understood  by  administration  in  the  government  of  a  state. 
Still,  when  we  endeavor  to  come  to  a  distinct  understanding 
on  this  subject,  we  acknowledge,  I  believe,  that,  under  the 
most  general  point  of  view,  administration  consists  in  an 
assemblage  of  means  destined  to  transmit,  as  speedily  and 
surely  as  possible,  the  will  of  the  central  power  into  all  de- 
partments of  society,  and,  under  the  same  conditions,  to 
make  the  powers  of  society  return  to  the  central  power, 
either  in  men  or  money.  This,  if  I  am  not  mistaken,  is  the 
true  object,  the  prevailing  character,  of  administration, 
From  this  we  may  perceive  tliat,  iji  .times  where  it  is  es.pe-. 


CIVILIZATION    IN    MODERN    EUROPE.  263 

dally  necessary  to  establish  union  and  order  in  society,  ad- 
ministration is  the  great  means  of  accomplishing  it — of 
bringing  together,  cementing,  and  uniting  scattered  and 
incoherent  elements.  Such,  in  fact,  was  the  work  of  the 
administration  of  Louis  XIV.  Till  his  time,  nothing  had 
been  more  difficult,  in  France  as  well  as  in  the  rest  of  Europe, 
than  to  caifse  the  action  of  the  central  power  to  penetrate 
into  all  the  parts  of  society,  and  to  concentrate  into  the 
heart  of  the  central  power  the  means  of  strength  possessed 
by  the  society  at  large.  This  was  the  object  of  Louis's  en- 
deavors, and  he  succeeded  in  it  to  a  certain  extent,  incom- 
parably better,  at  least,  than  preceding  governments  had 
done.  I  cannot  enter  into  any  details;  but  take  a  survey  of 
every  kind  of  public  service,  the  taxes,  the  highways,  indus- 
try, the  military  administration,  and  the  various  establish- 
ments which  belong  to  any  branch  of  administration  what- 
ever; there  is  hardly  any  of  them  which  you  will  not  find  to 
have  either  been  originated,  developed,  or  greatly  meliorated, 
under  the  reign  of  Louis  XIV.  It  was  as  administrators 
that  the  greatest  men  of  his  time,  such  as  Colbert  and  Lou- 
vois,  displayed  their  genius  and  exercised  their  ministerial 
functions.  It  was  thus  that  his  government  acquired  a  com- 
prehensiveness, a  decision,  and  a  consistency,  which  were 
wanting  in  all  the  European  governments  around  him. 

The  same  fact  holds  with  respect  to  this  government,  as 
regards  its  legislative  capacity.  I  will  again  refer  to  the 
comparison  I  made  in  the  outset  to  the  legislative  activity  of 
the  Consular  government,  and  its  prodigious  labor  in  revis- 
ing and  remodelling  the  laws.  A  labor  of  the  same  kind 
was  undertaken  under  Louis  XIV.  The  great  ordinances 
which  he  passed  and  promulgated — the  ordinances  on  the 
criminal  law,  on  forms  of  procedure,  on  commerce,  on  the 
navy,  on  waters  and  forests — are  real  codes  of  law,  which 
were  constructed  in  the  same  manner  as  our  codes,  having 
been  discussed  in  the  Council  of  State,  sometimes  under  the 
presidency  of  Lamoignon.  There  are  men  whose  glory  it  is 
to  have  taken  a  share  in  this  labor  and  those  discussions — 
M.  Pussort,  for  example.  If  we  had  to  consider  it  simply  in 
itself,  we  should  have  a  great  deal  to  say  against  the  legisla- 
tion of  Louis  XIV.  It  is  full  of  faults  which  are  now  evi- 
dent, and  which  nobody  can  dispute;  it  was  not  conceived 
in  the  spirit  of  justice  and  true  liberty,  but  with  a  view  to 
public  order,  and  to  give  regularity  and  stability  to  the  laws. 
But  even  that  alone  was  a  great  progress;  and  it  cannot  be 
doubted  that  the  legislative  acts  of  Louis  XIV.,  very  superior 


264  GENERAL    HISTORY    OF 

to  the  previous  state  of  legislation,  powerfully  contributed  to 
the  advancement  of  French  society  in  the  career  of  civili- 
zation. 

Under  whatever  point  of  view,  then,  we  regard  this  gov- 
ernment, we  can  at  once  discover  the  means  of  its  strength 
and  influence.  It  was,  in  truth,  the  first  government  which 
presented  itself  to  the  eyes  of  Europe  as  a  power  sure  of  its 
position,  which  had  not  to  dispute  for  its  existence  with 
domestic  enemies,  which  was  tranquil  in  regard  to  its  terri- 
tory and  its  people,  and  had  nothing  to  think  of  but  the  care 
of  governing  Till  then,  all  the  European  governments  had 
been  incessantly  plunged  into  wars  which  deprived  them  of 
security  as  well  as  leisure,  or  so  assailed  by  parties  and  ene- 
mies at  home,  that  they  passed  their  time  in  fighting  for 
their  existence.  The  government  of  Louis  XIV.  appeared 
to  be  the  first  that  was  engaged  solely  in  managing  its  affairs 
like  a  power  at  once  definitive  and  progressive,  which  was 
not  afraid  of  making  innovations,  because  it  reckoned  upon 
the  future.  In  fact,  few  governments  have  been  more  given 
to  innovation.  Compare  it  with  a  government  of  the  same 
nature,  with  the  pure  monarchy  of  Philip  II.  in  Spain,  which 
was  more  absolute  than  that  of  Louis  XIV.,  and  yet  was  less 
regular  and  tranquil.  How  did  Philip  II.  succeed  in  esfkb- 
lishing  absolute  power  in  Spain?  By  stifling  every  kind  of 
activity  in  the  country;  by  refusing  his  sanction  to  every 
kind  of  improvement,  and  thus  rendering  the  state  of  Spain 
completely  stationary.  The  government  of  Louis  XIV,,  on 
the  contrary,  was  active  in  every  kind  of  innovation,  and 
favorable  to  the  progress  of  letters,  arts,  riches — favorable, 
in  a  word,  to  civilization.  These  were  the  true  causes  of  its 
preponderance  in  Europe — a  preponderance  so  great,  that 
it  was,  on  the  Continent,  during  the  seventeenth  century,  not 
only  for  sovereigns,  but  even  for  nations,  the  type  and  model 
of  governments. 

It  is  frequently  asked,  and  it  is  impossible  to  avoid  ask- 
ing, how  a  power  so  splendid  and  well  established — to  judge 
from  the  circumstance  I  have  pointed  out  to  you,  should 
have  fallen  so  quickly  into  a  state  of  decay?  how,  after  hav- 
ing played  so  great  a  part  in  Europe,  it  became  in  the 
following  century  so  inconsiderable,  so  weak,  and  so  little 
respected?  The  fact  is  undeniable:  in  the  seventeenth  cen- 
tury, the  French  government  stood  at  the  head  of  European 
civilization.      In  the  eighteenth  century  it  disappeared;  it 


CIVILIZATION    IN    MODERN    EUROPE.  265 

was  the  society  of  France,  separated  from  its  government, 
and  often  in  a  hostile  position  toward  it,  which  led  the  way 
and  guided  the  progress  of  the  European  world. 

It  is  here  that  we  discover  the  incorrigible  vice  and  in- 
fallible effect  of  absolute  power.  I  shall  not  enter  into  any 
detail  respecting  the  faults  of  the  government  of  Louis  XIV.; 
and  there  were  great  ones.  I  shall  not  speak  either  of  the 
war  of  the  succession  in  Spain,  or  the  revocation  of  the 
edict  of  Nantes,  or  the  excessive  expenditure,  or  many  other 
fatal  measures  which  affected  its  character.  I  will  take  the 
merits  of  the  government,  such  as  I  have  described  them. 
I  will  admit  that,  probably,  there  never  was  an  absolute 
power  more  completely  acknowledged  by  its  age  and  nation, 
or  which  has  rendered  more  real  services  to  the  civilization 
of  its  country  as  well  as  to  Europe  in  general.  It  followed, 
indeed,  from  the  single  circumstance,  that  this  government 
had  no  other  principle  than  absolute  power,  and  rested  en- 
tirely on  this  basis,  that  its  decay  was  so  sudden  and 
deserved.  What  was  essentially  wanting  to  France  in  Louis 
XIV. 's  time  was  institutions,  political  powers,  which  were 
independent  and  self-existent,  capable,  in  short,  of  spon- 
taneous action  and  resistance.  The  ancient  French  institu- 
tions, if  they  deserve  the  name,  no  longer  subsisted;  Louis 
XIV.  completed  their  destruction.  He  took  care  not  to 
replace  them  by  new  institutions;  they  would  have  con- 
strained him,  and  he  did  not  choose  constraint.  The  will 
and  action  of  the  central  power  were  all  that  appeared  with 
splendor  at  that  epoch.  The  government  of  Louis  XIV.  is 
a  great  fact,  a  powerful  and  brilliant  fact,  but  it  was  built 
upon  sand.  Free  institutions  are  a  guarantee,  not  only  for 
the  prudence  of  governments,  but  also  for  their  stability. 
No  system  can  endure  otherwise  than  by  institutions. 
Wherever  absolute  power  has  been  permanent,  it  has  been 
based  upon,  and  supported  by,  real  institutions;  sometimes 
by  the  division  of  society  into  castes,  distinctly  separated, 
and  sometimes  by  a  system  of  religious  institutions.  Under 
the  reign  of  Louis  XIV.,  power,  as  well  as  liberty,  needed 
institutions.  There  was  nothing  in  France,  at  that  time,  to 
protect  either  the  country  from  the  illegitimate  action  of  the 
government,  or  the  government  itself  against  the  inevitable 
action  of  time.  Thus,  we  behold  the  government  assisting 
its  own  decay.  It  was  not  Louis  XIV.  only  who  grew  old, 
and  became  feeble,  at  the  end  of  his  reign;  it  was  the  whole 
system   of  absolute   power.     Pure   monarchy  was  as  much 


266  GENERAL    HISTORY    OF 

worn  out  in  17 12,  as  the  monarch  himself.  And  the  evil  was 
so  much  the  more  serious,  that  Louis  XIV.  had  destroyed 
political  habits  as  well  as  political  institutions.  There  can 
be  no  political  habits  without  independence.  He  only  who 
feels  that  he  is  strong  in  himself,  is  always  capable  either  of 
serving  the  ruling  power,  or  of  contending  with  it.  Ener- 
getic characters  disappear  along  with  independent  situations, 
and  a  free  and  high  spirit  arises  from  the  security  of  rights. 

We  may,  then,  describe  in  the  following  terms  the  state 
in  which  the  French  nation  and  the  power  of  the  govern- 
ment were  left  by  Louis  XIV.:  in  society  there  was  a  great 
development  of  wealth,  strength,  and  intellectual  activity  of 
every  kind;  and,  along  with  this  progressive  society,  there 
was  a  government  essentially  stationary,  and  without  means 
to  adapt  itself  to  the  movement  of  the  people;  devoted,  after 
half  a  century  of  great  splendor,  to  immobility  and  weak- 
ness, and  already  fallen,  even  in  the  lifetime  of  its  founder, 
into  a  decay  almost  resembling  dissolution.  Such  was  the 
situation  of  France  at  the  expiration  of  the  seventeenth  cen- 
tury, and  which  impressed  upon  the  subsequent  period  so 
different  a  direction  and  character. 

It  is  hardly  necessary  for  me  to  remark  that  a  great 
movement  of  the  human  mind,  that  a  spirit  of  free  inquiry, 
was  the  predominant  feature,  the  essential  fact  of  the  eight- 
eenth century.  You  have  already  heard  from  this  chair  a 
great  deal  on  this  topic;  you  have  already  heard  this 
momentous  period  characterized,  by  the  voices  of  a  philo- 
sophic orator  and  an  eloquent  philosopher.  I  cannot  pre- 
tend, in  the  small  space  of  time  which  remains  to  me,  to 
follow  all  the  phases  of  the  great  revolution  which  was  then 
accomplished;  neither,  however,  can  I  leave  you  without 
calling  your  attention  to  some  of  its  features  which  perhaps 
have  been  too  little  remarked. 

The  first,  which  occurs  to  me  in  the  outset,  and  which, 
indeed,  I  have  already  pointed  out,  is  the  almost  entire  dis- 
appearance (so  to  speak)  of  the  government  in  the  course  of 
the  eighteenth  century,  and  the  appearance  of  the  human 
mind  as  the  principal  and  almost  sole  actor.  Excepting  in 
what  concerned  foreign  relations,  under  the  ministry  of  the 
Duke  de  Choiseul,  and  in  some  great  concessions  made  to 
the  general  bent  of  the  public  mind,  in  the  American  war, 
for  example; — excepting,  I  say,  in  some  events  of  this  kind, 
there  perhaps  never  was  a  government  so  inactive,  apathetic, 


CIVILIZATION    IN    MODERN    EUROPE.  267 

and  inert,  as  the  French  government  of  that  time.  In  place'* 
of  the  ambitious  and  active  government  of  Louis  XIV.,  which 
was  everywhere,  and  at  the  head  of  everything,  you  have  a 
power  whose  only  endeavor,  so  much  did  it  tremble  for  its 
own  safety,  was  to  slink  from  public  view — to  hide  itself  from 
danger.  It  was  the  nation  which,  by  its  intellectual  move- 
ment, interfered  with  everything,  and  alone  possessed  moral 
authority,  the  only  real  authority. 

A  second  characteristic  which  strikes  me  in  the  state  of 
the  human  mind  in  the  eighteenth  century,  is  the  univer- 
sality of  the  spirit  of  free  inquiry.  Till  then,  and  particu- 
larly in  the  sixteenth  century,  free  inquiry  had  been  exercised 
in  a  very  limited  field;  its  object  had  been  sometimes  reli- 
gious questions,  and  sometimes  religious  and  political  ques- 
tions conjoined;  but  its  pretensions  did  not  extend  much 
further.  In  the  eighteenth  century,  on  the  contrary,  free 
inquiry  became  universal  in  its  character  and  objects:  reli- 
gion, politics,  pure  philosophy,  man  and  society,  moral  and 
physical  science — everything  became,  at  once,  the  subject  of 
study,  doubt,  and  system;  the  ancient  sciences  were  over- 
turned; new  sciences  sprang  up.  It  was  a  movement  which 
proceeded  in  every  direction,  though  emanating  from  one 
and  the  same  impulse. 

This  movement,  moreover,  had  one  peculiarity,  which 
perhaps  can  be  met  with  at  no  other  time  in  the  history  of 
the  world;  that  of  being  purely  speculative.  Until  that 
time,  in  all  great  human  revolutions,  action  had  promptly 
mingled  itself  with  speculation.  Thus,  in  the  sixteenth 
century,  the  religious  revolution  had  begun  by  ideas  and  dis- 
cussions purely  intellectual;  but  it  had,  almost  immediately, 
led  to  events.  The  leaders  of  the  intellectual  parties  had 
very  speedily  become  leaders  of  political  parties;  the  realities 
of  life  had  mingled  with  the  workings  of  the  intellect.  The 
same  thing  had  been  the  case,  in  the  seventeenth  century,  in 
the  English  revolution.  In  France,  in  the  eighteenth  cen- 
tury, we  see  the  human  mind  exercising  itself  upon  all  sub- 
jects— upon  ideas  which  from  their  connexion  with  the  real 
interests  of  life  necessarily  had  the  most  prompt  and  power- 
ful influence  upon  events.  And  yet  the  promoters  of,  and 
partakers  in,  these  great  discussions,  continued  to  be  stran- 
gers to  every  kind  of  practical  activity,  pure  speculators, 
who  observed,  judged,  and  spoke  without  ever  proceeding 
to  practice.  There  never  was  a  period  in  which  the  gov- 
ernment of  facts,  and  external  realities  was  as  completely 


268  GENERAL    HISTORY    OF 

distinct  from  the  government  of  thought.  The  separation  of 
spiritual  from  temporal  affairs  has  never  been  real  in  Europe, 
except  in  the  eighteenth  century.  For  the  first  time,  per- 
haps, the  spiritual  world  developed  itself  quite  separately 
from  the  temporal  world;  a  fact  of  the  greatest  importance, 
and  which  had  a  great  influence  on  the  course  of  events.  It 
gave  a  singular  character  of  pride  and  inexperience  to  the 
mode  of  thinking  of  the  time:  philosophy  was  never  more 
ambitious  of  governing  the  world,  and  never  more  completely 
failed  in  its  object.  This  necessarily  led  to  results;  the  in- 
tellectual movement  necessarily  gave,  at  last,  an  impulse  to 
external  events;  and,  as  they  had  been  totally  separated, 
their  meeting  was  so  much  the  more  difficult,  and  their 
collision  so  much  the  more  violent. 

We  can  hardly  now  be  surprised  at  another  character  of 
the  human  mind  at  this  epoch,  I  mean  its  extreme  boldness. 
Prior  to  this,  its  greatest  activity  had  always  been  restrained 
by  certain  barriers;  man  had  lived  in  the  midst  of  facts,  some 
of  which  inspired  him  with  caution,  and  repressed,  to  a  cer- 
tain degree,  his  tendency  to  movement.  In  the  eighteenth 
century,  I  should  really  be  at  a  loss  to  say  what  external  facts 
were  respected  by  the  human  mind,  or  exercised  any  in- 
fluence over  it;  it  entertained  nothing  but  hatred  or  contempt 
for  the  whole  social  system;  it  considered  itself  called  upon 
to  reform  all  things;  it  looked  upon  itself  as  a  sort  of  crea- 
tor; institutions,  opinions,  manners,  society,  even  man  him- 
self— all  seemed  to  require  to  be  re-modeled,  and  human 
reason  undertook  the  task.  Whenever,  before,  had  the 
human  mind  displayed  such  daring  boldness? 

Such,  then,  was  the  power  which,  in  the  course  of  the 
eighteenth  century,  was  confronted  with  what  remained  of 
the  government  of  Louis  XIV.  It  is  clear  to  us  all  that  a 
collision  between  these  two  unequal  forces  was  unavoidable. 
The  leading  fact  of  the  English  revolution,  the  struggle  be- 
tween free  inquiry  and  pure  monarchy,  was  therefore  sure 
to  be  repeated  in  France.  The  differences  between  the  two 
cases,  undoubtedly,  were  great,  and  necessarily  perpetuated 
themselves  in  the  results  of  each;  but,  at  bottom,  the  general 
situation  of  both  was  similar,  and  the  event  itself  must  be 
explained  in  the  same  manner. 

I  by  no  means  intend  to  exhibit  the  infinite  consequences 
of  this  collision  in  France.     I  am  drawing  toward  the  close 


CIVILIZATION    IN    MODERN    EUROPE.  269 

of  this  course  of  lectures,  and  must  hasten  to  conclude.  I 
wish,  however,  before  quitting  you,  to  call  your  attention  to 
the  gravest,  and,  in  my  opinion,  the  most  instructive  fact 
which  this  great  spectacle  has  revealed  to  us.  It  is  the 
danger,  the  evil,  the  insurmountable  vice  of  absolute  power, 
wheresoever  it  may  exist,  whatsover  name  it  may  bear,  and 
for  whatever  object  it  maybe  exercised.  We  have  seen  that 
the  government  of  Louis  XIV.  perished  almost  from  this 
single  cause.  The  power  which  succeeded  it,  the  human 
mind,  the  real  sovereign  of  the  eighteenth  century,  under- 
went the  same  fate;  in  its  turn,  it  possessed  almost  absolute 
power;  in  its  turn,  its  confidence  in  itself  became  excessive. 
Its  movement  was  noble,  good,  and  useful;  and,  were  it 
necessary  for  me  to  give  a  general  opinion  on  the  subject,  I 
should  readily  say  that  the  eighteenth  century  appears  to  me 
one  of  the  grandest  epochs  in  the  history  of  the  world,  that 
perhaps  which  has  done  the  greatest  service  to  mankind,  and 
has  produced  the  greatest  and  most  general  improvement. 
If  I  were  called  upon,  however,  to  pass  judgment  upon  its 
ministry  (if  I  may  use  such  an  expression),  I  should  pro- 
nounce sentence  in  its  favor.  It  is  not  the  less  true,  how- 
ever, that  the  absolute  power  exercised  at  this  period  by  the 
human  mind,  corrupted  it,  and  that  it  entertained  an  illegiti- 
mate aversion  to  the  subsisting  state  of  things,  and  to  all 
opinions  which  differed  from  the  prevailing  one; — an  aver- 
sion which  led  to  error  and  tyranny.  The  proportion  of 
error  and  tyranny,  indeed,  which  mingled  itself  in  the 
triumph  of  human  reason  at  the  end  of  the  century — a  pro- 
portion, the  greatness  of  which  cannot  be  dissembled,  and 
which  ought  to  be  exposed  instead  of  being  passed  over — 
this  infusion  of  error  and  tyranny,  I  say,  was  a  consequence 
of  the  delusion  into  which  the  human  mind  was  led  at  that 
period  by  the  extent  of  its  power.  It  is  the  duty,  and  will 
be,  I  believe,  the  peculiar  event  of  our  time,  to  acknowledge 
that  all  power,  whether  intellectual  or  temporal,  whether  be- 
longing to  governments  or  people,  to  philosophers  or  minis- 
ters, in  whatever  cause  it  may  be  exercised — that  all  human 
power,  I  say,  bears  within  ilsfelfja'' natural  vice,  a  principle 
of  feebleness  and  abuse,  which-  renders  it  necessary  that  it 
should  be  limited.  Now,  there  , is.  nothing  but  the  general 
freedom  of  eve.r^.j.ight,  iT.itei'ect,''ar,d  opinion,  the  free  mani- 
festation ana  legal  existence  of '^ll  these  forces — there  is 
nothing,  I  say,  but  a  system  which  ensures  all  this,  can  re- 
strain every  particular  force  or  power  within  its  legitimate 
bounds,  and  prevent  it.  from  ei'cioach'ng  on  the  others,  so 


270  GENERAL    HISTORY    OF    CIVILIZATION. 

as  to  produce  the  real  beneficial  subsistence  of  free  inquiry. 
For  us,  this  is  the  great  result,  the  great  moral  of  the  strug- 
gle which  took  place  at  the  close  of  the  eighteenth  century, 
between  what  may  be  called  temporal  absolute  power  and 
spiritual  absolute  power 

I  am  now  arrived  at  the  end  of  the  task  which  I  under- 
took. You  will  remember,  that,  in  beginning  this  course,  I 
stated  that  my  object  was  to  give  you  a  general  view  of  the 
development  of  European  civilization,  from  the  fall  of  the 
Roman  Empire  to  the  present  time.  I  have  passed  very 
rapidly  over  this  long  career;  so  rapidly  that  it  has  been 
quite  out  of  my  power  even  to  touch  upon  everything  of 
importance,  or  to  bring  proofs  of  those  facts  to  which  I  have 
drawn  your  attention.  I  hope,  however,  that  I  have  attained 
my  end,  which  was  to  mark  the  great  epochs  of  the  develop- 
ment of  modern  society.  Allow  me  to  add  a  word  more.  I 
endeavored,  at  the  outset,  to  define  civilization,  to  describe 
the  fact  which  bears  that  name.  Civilization  appeared  to  me 
to  consist  of  two  principal  facts,  the  development  of  human 
society  and  that  of  man  himself;  on  the  one  hand,  his  politi- 
cal and  social,  and  on  the  other,  his  internal  and  moral 
advancement.  This  year  I  have  confined  myself  to  the  his- 
tory of  society.  I  have  exhibited  civilization  only  in  its 
social  point  of  view.  I  have  said  nothing  of  the  develop- 
ment of  man  himself.  I  have  made  no  attempt  to  give  you 
the  history  of  opinions — of  the  moral  progress  of  human 
nature.  I  intend,  when  we  meet  again  here,  next  season,  to 
confine  myself  especially  to  France;  to  study  with  you  the 
history  of  French  civilization,  but  to  study  it  in  detail  and 
under  its  various  aspects.  I  shall  try  to  make  you  acquainted 
not  only  with  the  history  of  society  in  France,  but  also  with 
that  of  man;  to  follow,  along  with  you,  the  progress  of  in- 
stitutions, opinions,  and  intellectual  labors  of  every  sort,  and 
thus  to  arrive  at  a  comprehension  of  what  has  been,  in  the 
most  complete  and  general  sense,  the  development  of  our 
glorious  country.  In  the  past,  as  well  as  in  the  future,  she 
has  a  right  to  our  warmest  atTections. 


;?,HE   2ND. 


COLUMBIA 


DUE  DATE 


^^^  G949i 


^'m^^o%"'^ 


